Me  TE AGUE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


Moran  of  the  Lady  Letty 


larao,  pp.  275,  $1.00 


McTEAGUE 

A    Story   of  San  Francisco 


BY 

FRANK  NORRIS 


GARDEN    CITY  NEW   YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1890,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO. 


£>rt)icate&  to 

L.  E.  GATES 

OF  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


JVJ773692 


McTEAGUE 


i. 


It  was  Sunday,  and,  according  to  his  custom  on 
that  day,  McTeague  took  his  dinner  at  two  in  the 
afternoon  at  the  car  conductors'  coffee-joint  on 
Polk  Street.  He  had  a  thick  gray  soup;  heavy,  un 
derdone  meat,  very  hot,  on  a  cold  plate;  two  kinds 
of  vegetables;  and  a  sort  of  suet  pudding,  full  of 
strong  butter  and  sugar.  On  his  way  back  to  his 
office,  one  block  above,  he  stopped  at  Joe  Frenna's 
saloon  and  bought  a  pitcher  of  steam  beer.  It  was 
his  habit  to  leave  the  pitcher  there  on  his  way  to 
dinner. 

Once  in  his  office,  or,  as  he  called  it  on  his  sign 
board,  "  Dental  Parlors,"  he  took  off  his  coat  and 
shoes,  unbuttoned  his  vest,  and,  having  crammed 
his  little  stove  full  of  coke,  lay  back  in  his  operating 
chair  at  the  bay  window,  reading  the  paper,  drink 
ing  his  beer,  and  smoking  his  huge  porcelain  pipe 
while  his  food  digested;  crop-full,  stupid,  and  warm. 
By  and  by,  gorged  with  steam  beer,  and  overcome 
by  the  heat  of  the  room,  the  cheap  tobacco,  and  the 
effects  of  his  heavy  meal,  he  dropped  off  to  sleep. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  his  canary  bird,  in  its  gilt 
cage  just  over  his  head,  began  to  sing.  He  woke 
slowly,  finished  the  rest  of  his  beer — very  flat  and 


McTeague 

stale  by  this  time — and  taking  down  his  concertina 
from  the  book-case,  where  in  week  days  it  kept  the 
company  of  seven  volumes  of  "  Allen's  Practical 
Dentist,"  played  upon  it  some  half-dozen  very 
mournful  airs. 

McTeague  looked  forward  to  these  Sunday  after 
noons  as  a  period  of  relaxation  and  enjoyment.  He 
invariably  spent  them  in  the  same  fashion.  These 
were  his  only  pleasures — to  eat,  to  smoke,  to  sleep, 
and  to  play  upon  his  concertina. 

The  six  lugubrious  airs  that  he  knew,  always  car 
ried  him  back  to  the  time  when  he  was  a  car-boy  at 
the  Big  Dipper  Mine  in  Placer  County,  ten  years 
before.  He  remembered  the  years  he  had  spent 
there  trundling  the  heavy  cars  of  ore  in  and  out 
of  the  tunnel  under  the  direction  of  his  father.  For 
thirteen  days  of  each  fortnight  his  father  was  a 
steady,  hard-working  shift-boss  of  the  mine.  Every 
other  Sunday  he  became  an  irresponsible  animal,  a 
beast,  a  brute,  crazy  with  alcohol. 

McTeague  remembered  his  mother,  too,  who, 
with  the  help  of  the  Chinaman,  cooked  for  forty 
miners.  She  was  an  overworked  drudge,  fiery  and 
energetic  for  all  that,  filled  with  the  one  idea  of 
having  her  son  rise  in  life  and  enter  a  profession. 
The  chance  had  come  at  last  when  the  father  died, 
corroded  with  alcohol,  collapsing  in  a  few  hours. 
Two  or  three  years  later  a  travelling  dentist  visited 
the  mine  and  put  up  his  tent  near  the  bunk-house. 
He  was  more  or  Jess  of  a  charlatan,  but  he  fired 
Mrs.  McTeague's  ambition,  and  young  McTeague 
went  away  with  him  to  learn  his  profession.  He 
had  learnt  it  after  a  fashion,  mostly  bv  watchis^  the 


McTeague 

charlatan  operate.  He  had  read  many  of  the  neces 
sary  books,  but  he  was  too  hopelessly  stupid  to  get 
much  benefit  from  them. 

Then  one  day  at  San  Francisco  had  come  the 
news  of  his  mother's  death;  she  had  left  him  some 
money — not  much,  but  enough  to  set  him  up  in 
business;  so  he  had  cut  loose  from  the  charlatan 
and  had  opened  his  "  Dental  Parlors  "  on  Polk 
Street,  an  "  accommodation  street "  of  small  shops 
in  the  residence  quarter  of  the  town.  Here  he  had 
slowly  collected  a  clientele  of  butcher  boys,  shop 
girls,  drug  clerks,  and  car  conductors.  He  made  but 
few  acquaintances.  Polk  Street  called  him  the 
"  Doctor  "  and  spoke  of  his  enormous  strength.  For 
McTeague  was  a  young  giant,  carrying  his  huge 
shock  of  blond  hair  six  feet  three  inches  from  the 
ground;  moving  his  immense  limbs,  heavy  with 
ropes  of  muscle,  slowly,  ponderously.  His  hands 
were  enormous,  red,  and  covered  with  a  fell  of  stiff 
yellow  hair;  they  were  hard  as  wooden  mallets, 
strong  as  vises,  the  hands  of  the  old-time  car-boy. 
Often  he  dispensed  with  forceps  and  extracted  a  re 
fractory  tooth  with  his  thumb  and  finger.  His  head 
was  square-cut,  angular;  the  jaw  salient,  like  that  of 
the  carnivora. 

McTeague's  mind  was  as  his  body,  heavy,  slow 
to  act,  sluggish.  Yet  there  was  nothing  vicious 
about  the  man.  Altogether  he  suggested  the 
draught  horse,  immensely  strong,  stupid,  docile, 
obedient. 

When  he  opened  his  "  Dental  Parlors,"  he  felt 
that  his  life  was  a  success,  that  he  could  hope  for 
nothing  better.  In  spite  of  the  name,  there  was  but 

3 


McTeague 

one  room.  It  was  a  corner  room  on  the  second  floor 
over  the  branch  post-office,  and  faced  the  street. 
McTeague  made  it  do  for  a  bedroom  as  well,  sleep 
ing  on  the  big  bed-lounge  against  the  wall  opposite 
the  window.  There  was  a  washstand  behind  the 
screen  in  the  corner  where  he  manufactured  his 
moulds.  In  the  round  bay  window  were  his  oper 
ating  chair,  his  dental  engine,  and  the  movable  rack 
on  which  he  laid  out  his  instruments.  Three  diairs, 
a  bargain  at  the  second-hand  store,  ranged  them 
selves  against  the  wall  with  military  precision  un 
derneath  a  steel  engraving  of  the  court  of  Lorenzo 
de'  Medici,  which  he  had  bought  because  there  were 
a  great  many  figures  in  it  for  the  money.  Over  the 
bed-lounge  hung  a  rifle  manufacturer's  advertise 
ment  calendar  which  he  never  used.  The  other 
ornaments  were  a  small  marble-topped  centre  table 
covered  with  back  numbers  of  "  The  American  Sys 
tem  of  Dentistry,"  a  stone  pug  dog  sitting  before 
the  little  stove,  and  a  thermometer.  A  stand  of 
shelves  occupied  one  corner,  filled  with  the  seven 
volumes  of  "  Allen's  Practical  Dentist."  On  the  top 
shelf  McTeague  kept  his  concertina  and  a  bag  of 
bird  seed  for  the  canary.  The  whole  place  exhaled 
a  mingled  odor  of  bedding,  creosote,  and  ether. 

But  for  one  thing,  McTeague  would  have  been 
perfectly  contented.  Just  outside  his  window  was 
his  signboard — a  modest  affair — that  read:  "  Doc 
tor  McTeague.  Dental  Parlors.  Gas  Given  "  ;  but 
that  was  all.  It  was  his  ambition,  his  dream,  to 
have  projecting  from  that  corner  window  a  huge 
gilded  tooth,  a  molar  with  enormous  prongs,  some 
thing  gorgeous  and  attractive.  He  would  have  it 

4 


McTeague 

some  day,  on  that  he  was  resolved;  but  as  yet  such 
a  thing  was  far  beyond  his  means. 

When  he  had  finished  the  last  of  his  beer,  Mc 
Teague  slowly  wiped  his  lips  and  huge  yellow  mus 
tache  with  the  side  of  his  hand.  Bull-like,  he  heaved 
himself  laboriously  up,  and,  going  to  the  window, 
stood  looking  down  into  the  street. 

The  street  never  failed  to  interest  him.  It  was 
one  of  those  cross  streets  peculiar  to  Western  cities, 
situated  in  the  heart  of  the  residence  quarter,  but 
occupied  by  small  tradespeople  who  lived  in  the 
rooms  above  their  shops.  There  were  corner  drug 
stores  with  huge  jars  of  red,  yellow,  and  green 
liquids  in  their  windows,  very  brave  and  gay;  sta 
tioners'  stores,  where  illustrated  weeklies  were 
tacked  upon  bulletin  boards;  barber  shops  with 
cigar  stands  in  their  vestibules;  sad-looking  plumb 
ers'  offices;  cheap  restaurants,  in  whose  windows 
one  saw  piles  of  unopened  oysters  weighted  down 
by  cubes  of  ice,  and  china  pigs  and  cows  knee  deep 
in  layers  of  white  beans.  At  one  end  of  the  street 
McTeague  could  see  the  huge  power-house  of  the 
cable  line.  Immediately  opposite  him  was  a  great 
market;  while  farther  on,  over  the  chimney  stacks  of 
the  intervening  houses,  the  glass  roof  of  some  huge 
public  baths  glittered  like  crystal  in  the  afternoon 
sun.  Underneath  him  the  branch  post-office  was 
opening  its  doors,  as  was  its  custom  between  two 
and  three  o'clock  on  Sunday  afternoons.  An  acrid 
odor  of  ink  rose  upward  to  him.  Occasionally  a 
cable  car  passed,  trundling  heavily,  with  a  strident 
whirring  of  jostled  glass  windows. 

On  week  days  the  street  was  very  lively.  It  woke 
5 


McTeague 

to  its  work  about  seven  o'clock,  at  the  time  when 
the  newsboys  made  their  appearance  together  with 
the  day  laborers.  The  laborers  went  trudging  past 
in  a  straggling  file- — plumbers'  apprentices,  their 
pockets  stuffed  with  sections  of  lead  pipe,  tweezers, 
and  pliers;  carpenters,  carrying  nothing  but  their 
little  pasteboard  lunch  baskets  painted  to  imitate 
leather;  gangs  of  street  workers, their  overalls  soiled 
with  yellow  clay,  their  picks  and  long-handled  shov 
els  over  their  shoulders;  plasterers,  spotted  with 
lime  from  head  to  foot.  This  little  army  of  workers, 
tramping  steadily  in  one  direction,  met  and  mingled 
with  other  toilers  of  a  different  description — conduc 
tors  and  "  swing  men  "  of  the  cable  company  going 
on  duty;  heavy-eyed  night  clerks  from  the  drug 
stores  on  their  way  home  to  sleep;  roundsmen  re 
turning  to  the  precinct  police  station  to  make  their 
night  report,  and  Chinese  market  gardeners  teeter 
ing  past  under  their  heavy  baskets.  The  cable  cars 
began  to  fill  up;  all  along  the  street  could  be  seen 
the  shop  keepers  taking  down  their  shutters. 

Between  seven  and  eight  the  street  breakfasted. 
Now  and  then  a  waiter  from  one  of  the  cheap  restau 
rants  crossed  from  one  sidewalk  to  the  other,  bal 
ancing  on  one  palm  a  tray  covered  with  a  napkin. 
Everywhere  was  the  smell  of  coffee  and  of  frying 
steaks.  A  little  later,  following  in  the  path  of  the 
day  laborers,  came  the  clerks  and  shop  girls,  dressed 
with  a  certain  cheap  smartness,  always  in  a  hurry, 
glancing  apprehensively  at  the  power-house  clock. 
Their  employers  followed  an  hour  or  so  later — on 
the  cable  cars  for  the  most  part — whiskered  gentle 
men  with  huge  stomachs,  reading  the  morning 

6 


McTeague 

papers  with  great  gravity;  bank  cashiers  and  in 
surance  clerks  with  flowers  in  their  buttonholes. 

At  the  same  time  the  school  children  invaded  the 
street,  filling  the  air  with  a  clamor  of  shrill  voices, 
stopping  at  the  stationers'  shops,  or  idling  a  mo 
ment  in  the  doorways  of  the  candy  stores.  For  over 
half  an  hour  they  held  possession  of  the  sidewalks, 
then  suddenly  disappeared,  leaving  behind  one  or 
two  stragglers  who  hurried  along  with  great  strides 
of  their  little  thin  legs,  very  anxious  and  preoccu 
pied. 

Towards  eleven  o'clock  the  ladies  from  the  great 
avenue  a  block  above  Polk  Street  made  their  ap 
pearance,  promenading  the  sidewalks  leisurely,  de 
liberately.  They  were  at  their  morning's  marketing. 
They  were  handsome  women,  beautifully  dressed. 
They  knew  by  name  their  butchers  and  grocers  and 
vegetable  men.  From  his  window  McTeague  saw 
them  in  front  of  the  stalls,  gloved  and  veiled  and 
daintily  shod,  the  subservient  provision-men  at  their 
elbows,  scribbling  hastily  in  the  order  books.  They 
all  seemed  to  know  one  another,  these  grand  ladies 
from  the  fashionable  avenue.  Meetings  took  place 
here  and  there;  a  conversation  was  begun;  others 
arrived;  groups  were  formed;  little  impromptu  re 
ceptions  were  held  before  the  chopping  blocks  of 
butchers'  stalls,  or  on  the  sidewalk,  around  boxes 
of  berries  and  fruit. 

From  noon  to  evening  the  population  of  the  street 
was  of  a  mixed  character.  The  street  was  busiest 
at  that  time;  a  vast  and  prolonged  murmur  arose — 
the  mingled  shuffling  of  feet,  the  rattle  of  wheels,  the 
heavy  trundling  of  cable  cars.  At  four  o'clock  the 

7 


McTeague 

school  children  once  more  swarmed  the  sidewalks, 
again  disappearing  with  surprising  suddenness.  At 
six  the  great  homeward  march  commenced;  the  cars 
were  crowded,  the  laborers  thronged  the  sidewalks, 
the  newsboys  chanted  the  evening  papers.  Then 
all  at  once  the  street  fell  quiet;  hardly  a  soul  was  h. 
s>'ght;  the  sidewalks  were  deserted.  It  was  supper 
nour.  Evening  began;  and  one  by  one  a  multitude 
of  lights,  from  the  demoniac  glare  of  the  druggists' 
windows  to  the  dazzling  blue  whiteness  of  the  elec 
tric  globes,  grew  thick  from  street  corner  to  street 
corner.  Once  more  the  street  was  crowded.  Now 
there  was  no  thought  but  for  amusement.  The 
cable  cars  were  loaded  with  theatre-goers — men  in 
high  hats  and  young  girls  in  furred  opera  cloaks. 
On  the  sidewalks  were  groups  and  couples — the 
plumbers'  apprentices,  the  girls  of  the  ribbon  coun 
ters,  the  little  families  that  lived  on  the  second  sto 
ries  over  their  shops,  the  dressmakers,  the  small 
doctors,  the  harness  makers — all  the  various  inhab 
itants  of  the  street  were  abroad,  strolling  idly  from 
shop  window  to  shop  window,  taking  the  air  after 
the  day's  work.  Groups  of  girls  collected  on  the 
corners,  talking  and  laughing  very  loud,  making 
remarks  upon  the  young  men  that  passed  them. 
The  tamale  men  appeared.  A  band  of  Salvationists 
began  to  sing  before  a  saloon. 

Then,  little  by  little,  Polk  Street  dropped  back  to 
solitude.  Eleven  o'clock  struck  from  the  power 
house  clock.  Lights  were  extinguished.  At  one 
o'clock  the  cable  stopped,  leaving  an  abrupt  silence 
in  the  uir.'  All  at  once  it  seemed  very  still.  The 
noises  were  the  occasional  footfalls  of  a  police- 
8 


McTeague 

man  and  the  persistent  calling  of  ducks  and  geese 
in  the  closed  market.  The  street  was  asleep. 

Day  after  day,  McTeague  saw  the  same  panorama 
unroll  itself.  The  bay  window  of  his  "  Dental  Par 
lors  "  was  for  him  a  point  of  vantage  from  which  he 
watched  the  world  go  past. 

On  Sundays,  however,  all  was  changed.  As  he 
stood  in  the  bay  window,  after  finishing  his  beer, 
wiping  his  lips,  and  looking  out  into  the  street,  Mc 
Teague  was  conscious  of  the  difference.  Nearly 
all  the  stores  were  closed.  No  wagons  passed.  A  few 
people  hurried  up  and  down  the  sidewalks,  dressed 
in  cheap  Sunday  finery.  A  cable  car  went  by;  on 
the  outside  seats  were  a  party  of  returning  picnick 
ers.  The  mother,  the  father,  a  young  man,  and  a 
young  girl,  and  three  children.  The  two  older  people 
held  empty  lunch  baskets  in  their  laps,  while  the 
bands  of  the  children's  hats  were  stuck  full  of  oak 
leaves.  The  girl  carried  a  huge  bunch  of  wilting 
poppies  and  wild  flowers. 

As  the  car  approached  McTeague's  window  the 
young  man  got  up  and  swung  himself  off  the  plat 
form,  waving  good-by  to  the  party.  Suddenly  Mc 
Teague  recognized  him. 

"  There's  Marcus  Schouler,"  he  muttered  behind 
his  mustache. 

Marcus  Schouler  was  the  dentist's  one  intimate 
friend.  The  acquaintance  had  begun  at  the  car  con 
ductors'  coffee-joint,  where  the  two  occupied  the 
same  table  and  met  at  every  meal.  Then  they  made 
the  discovery  that  they  both  lived  in  the  same  flat, 
Marcus  occupying  a  room  on  the  floor  above  Mc 
Teague.  On  different  occasions  McTeague  had 

9 


McTeague 

treated  Marcus  for  an  ulcerated  tooth  and  had  re 
fused  to  accept  payment.  Soon  it  came  to  be  an 
understood  thing  between  them.  They  were  "  pals." 

McTeague,  listening,  heard  Marcus  go  up-stairs 
to  his  room  above.  In  a  few  minutes  his  door 
opened  again.  McTeague  knew  that  he  had  come 
out  into  the  hall  and  was  leaning  over  the  banis 
ters. 

"  Oh,  Mac!  "  he  called.  McTeague  came  to  his 
door. 

"  Hullo I'sthat  you,  Mark?" 

*'  Sure,"  answered  Marcus.     "  Come  on  up." 

"  You  come  on  down." 
/'  No,  come  on  up." 
»"  Oh,  you  come  on  down." 

"  Oh,  you  lazy  duck!  "  retorted  Marcus,  coming 
down  the  stairs. 

'  "  Been  out  to  the  Cliff  House  on  a  picnic,"  he  ex 
plained  as  he  sat  down  on  the  bed-lounge,  "  with 
my  uncle  and  his  people — the  Sieppes,  you  know. 
By  damn!  it  was  hot,"  he  suddenly  vociferated. 
"Just  look  at  that!  Just  look  at  that!  "  he  cried, 
dragging  at  his  limp  collar.  "  That's  the  third  one 
since  morning;  it  is — it  is,  for  a  fact — and  you  got 
your  stove  going."  He  began  to  tell  about  the 
picnic,  talking  very  loud  and  fast,  gesturing  furi 
ously,  very  excited  over  trivial  details.  Marcus 
could  not  talk  without  getting  excited. 

'''  You  ought  t'have  seen,  y'ought  t'have  seen.     I   , 
tell  you,  it  was  outa  sight.    It  was ;  it  was,  for  a  fact." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  McTeague,  bewildered, 
trying  to  follow.  "  Yes,  that's  so." 

In  recounting  a  certain  dispute  with  an  awkward 

10 


McTeague 

bicyclist,  in  which  it  appeared  he  had  become  in 
volved,  Marcus  quivered  with  rage.  *  Say  that 
again/  says  I  to  um.  'Just  say  that  once  more, 
and  '  " — here  a  rolling  explosion  of  oaths — "  '  you'll 
go  back  to  the  city  in  the  Morgue  wagon.  Ain't  I 
got  a  right  to  cross  a  street  even,  I'd  like  to  know, 
without  being  run  down — what?  '  I  say  it's  outra 
geous.  I'd  a  knifed  him  in  another  minute.  It  was 
an  outrage.  I  say  it  was  an  outrage." 

"  Sure  it  was,"  McTeague  hastened  to  reply. 
"  Sure,  sure." 

"  Oh,  and  we  had  an  accident,"  shouted  the  other, 
suddenly  off  on  another  tack.  "  It  was  awful.  Trina 
was  in  the  swing  there — that's  my  cousin  Trina,  you 
know  who  I  mean — and  she  fell  out.  By  damn!  I 
thought  she'd  killed  herself;  struck  her  face  on  a 
rock  and  knocked  out  a  front  tooth.  It's  a  wonder 
she  didn't  kill  herself.  It  is  a  wonder;  it  is,  for  a 
fact.  Ain't  it,  now?  Huh?  Ain't  it?  Y'ought 
t'have  seen." 

McTeague  had  a  vague  idea  that  Marcus  Schou- 
ler  was  stuck  on  his  cousin  Trina.  They  "  kept  com 
pany  "  a  good  deal;  Marcus  took  dinner  with  the 
Sieppes  every  Saturday  evening  at  their  home  at 
B  Street  station,  across  the  bay,  and  Sunday  after 
noons  he  and  the  family  usually  made  little  excur 
sions  into  the  suburbs.  McTeague  began  to  wonder 
dimly  how  it  was  that  on  this  occasion  Marcus  had 
not  gone  home  with  his  cousin.  As  sometimes  hap 
pens,  Marcus  furnished  the  explanation  upon  the 
instant. 

"  I  promised  a  duck  up  here  on  the  avenue  I'd 
call  for  his  dog  at  four  this  afternoon." 

ii 


McTeague 

Marcus  was  Old  Grannis's  assistant  in  a  little  dog 
hospital  that  the  latter  had  opened  in  a  sort  of  alley 
just  off  Polk  Street,  some  four  blocks  above.  Old 
Grannis  lived  in  one  of  the  back  rooms  of  Mc- 
Teague's  flat.  He  was  an  Englishman  and  an  ex 
pert  dog  surgeon,  but  Marcus  Schouler  was  a  bun 
gler  in  the  profession.  His  father  had  been  a  veteri 
nary  surgeon  who  had  kept  a  livery  stable  near  by, 
on  California  Street,  and  Marcus's  knowledge  of  the 
diseases  of  domestic  animals  had  been  picked  up  in 
a  haphazard  way,  much  after  the  manner  of  Mc- 
Teague's  education.  Somehow  he  managed  to  im 
press  Old  Grannis,  a  gentle,  simple-minded  old 
man,  with  a  sense  of  his  fitness,  bewildering  him 
with  a  torrent  of  empty  phrases  that  he  delivered 
with  fierce  gestures  and  with  a  manner  of  the  great 
est  conviction. 

"  You'd  better  come  along  with  me,  Mac,"  ob 
served  Marcus.  "  We'll  get  the  duck's  dog,  and 
then  we'll  take  a  little  walk,  huh?  You  got  nothun 
to  do.  Come  along." 

McTeague  went  out  with  him,  and  the  two  friends 
proceeded  up  to  the  avenue  to  the  house  where 
the  dog  was  to  be  found.  It  was  a  huge  mansion- 
like  place,  set  in  an  enormous  garden  that  occupied 
a  whole  third  of  the  block;  and  while  Marcus 
tramped  up  the  front  steps  and  rang  the  doorbell 
boldly,  to  show  his  independence,  McTeague  re 
mained  below  on  the  sidewalk,  gazing  stupidly  at 
the  curtained  windows,  the  marble  steps,  and  the 
bronze  griffins,  troubled  and  a  little  confused  by  all 
this  massive  luxury. 

After  they  had  taken  the  dog  to  the  hospital  and 

12 


McTeague 

had  left  him  to  whimper  behind  the  wire  netting, 
they  returned  to  Polk  Street  and  had  a  glass  of  beer 
in  the  back  room  of  Joe  Frenna's  corner  grocery. 

Ever  since  they  had  left  the  huge  mansion  on  the 
avenue,  Marcus  had  been  attacking  the  capitalists, 
a  class  which  he  pretended  to  execrate.  It  was  a 
pose  which  he  often  assumed,  certain  of  impressing 
the  dentist.  Marcus  had  picked  up  a  few  half- 
truths  of  political  economy — it  was  impossible  to 
say  where — and  as  soon  as  the  two  had  settled 
themselves  to  their  beer  in  Frenna's  back  room  he 
took  up  the  theme  of  the  labor  question.  He  dis 
cussed  it  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  vociferating,  shak 
ing  his  fists,  exciting  himself  with  his  own  noise. 
He  was  continually  making  use  of  the  stock  phrases 
of  the  professional  politician — phrases  he  had 
caught  at  some  of  the  ward  "  rallies  "  and  "  ratifica 
tion  meetings."  These  rolled  off  his  tongue  with 
incredible  emphasis,  appearing  at  every  turn  of  his 
conversation — "  Outraged  constituencies,"  "  cause 
of  labor,"  "  wage  earners,"  "  opinions  biased  by  per 
sonal  interests,"  "  eyes  blinded  by  party  prejudice." 
McTeague  listened  to  him,  awe-struck. 

"  There's  where  the  evil  lies,"  Marcus  would  cry. 
"The  masses  must  learn  self-control;  it  stands  to 
reason.  Look  at  the  figures,  look  at  the  figures. 
Decrease  the  number  of  wage  earners  and  you  in 
crease  wages,  don't  you?  don't  you?  " 

Absolutely  stupid,  and  understanding  never  a 
word,  McTeague  would  answer: 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  it— self-control— that's  the 
word." 

"  It's  the  capitalists  that's  ruining  the  cause  of 


McTeague 

labor,''  shouted  Marcus,  banging  the  table  with  his 
fist  till  the  beer  glasses  danced;  ''white-livered 
drones,  traitors,  with  their  livers  white  as  snow, 
eatun  the  bread  of  widows  and  orphuns;  there's 
where  the  evil  lies." 

Stupefied  with  his  clamor,  McTeague  answered, 
wagging  his  head: 

"  Yes,  that's  it;  I  think  it's  their  livers." 

Suddenly  Marcus  fell  calm  again,  forgetting  his 
fx>se  all  in  an  instant. 

"  Say,  Mac,  I  told  my  cousin  Trina  to  come  round 
and  see  you  about  that  tooth  of  he^s.  She'll  be  in 
to-morrow,  I  guess." 


II. 


After  his  breakfast  the  following  Monday  morn 
ing,  McTeague  looked  over  the  appointments  he 
had  written  clown  in  the  book-slate  that  hung 
against  the  screen.  His  writing  was  immense, 
very  clumsy,  and  very  round,  with  huge,  full-bellied 
1's  and  h's.  He  saw  that  he  had  made  an  appoint 
ment  at  one  o'clock  for  Miss  Baker,  the  retired 
dressmaker,  a  little  old  maid  who  had  a  tiny  room 
a  few  doors  down  the  hall.  It  adjoined  that  of  Old 
Grannis. 

Quite  an  affair  had  arisen  from  this  circumstance. 
Miss  Baker  and  Old  Grannis  were  both  over  sixty, 
and  yet  it  was  current  talk  amongst  the  lodgers  of 
the  flat  that  the  two  were  in  love  with  each  other. 
Singularly  enough,  they  were  not  even  acquaint 
ances;  never  a  word  had  passed  between  them.  At 
intervals  they  met  on  the  stairway;  he  on  his  way  to 
his  little  dog  hospital,  she  returning  from  a  bit  of 
marketing  in  the  street.  At  such  times  they  passed 
each  other  with  averted  eyes,  pretending  a  certain 
preoccupation,  suddenly  seized  with  a  great  embar 
rassment,  the  timidity  of  a  second  childhood.  He 
went  on  about  his  business,  disturbed  and  thought 
ful.  She  hurried  up  to  her  tiny  room,  her  curious 
little  false  curls  shaking  with  her  agitation,  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  a  flush  coming  and  going  in 
her  withered  cheeks.  The  emotion  of  one  of  these 

IS 


McTeague 

chance  meetings  remained  with  them  during  all  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

Was  it  the  first  romance  in  the  lives  of  each?  Did 
Old  Grannis  ever  remember  a  certain  face  amongst 
those  that  he  had  known  when  he  was  young  Gran 
nis — the  face  of  some  pale-haired  girl,  such  as  one 
sees  in  the  old  cathedral  towns  of  England?  Did 
Miss  Baker  still  treasure  up  in  a  seldom  opened 
drawer  or  box  some  faded  daguerreotype,  some 
strange  old-fashioned  likeness,  with  its  curling  hair 
and  high  stock?  It  was  impossible  to  say. 

Maria  Macapa,  the  Mexican  woman  who  took 
care  of  the  lodgers*  rooms,  had  been  the  first  to 
call  the  flat's  attention  to  the  affair,  spreading  the 
news  of  it  from  room  to  room,  from  floor  to  floor. 
Of  late  she  had  made  a  great  discovery;  all  the 
women  folk  of  the  flat  were  yet  vibrant  with  it. 
Old  Grannis  came  home  from  his  work  at  four 
o'clock,  and  between  that  time  and  six  Miss  Baker 
would  sit  in  her  room,  her  hands  idle  in  her  lap, 
doing  nothing,  listening,  waiting.  Old  Grannis  did 
the  same,  drawing  his  armchair  near  to  the  wall, 
knowing  that  Miss  Baker  was  upon  the  other  side, 
conscious,  perhaps,  that  she  was  thinking  of  him; 
and  there  the  two  would  sit  through  the  hours  of 
the  afternoon,  listening  and  waiting,  they  did  not 
know  exactly  for  what,  but  near  to  each  other, 
separated  only  by  the  thin  partition  of  their  rooms. 
They  had  come  to  know  each  other's  habits.  Old 
Grannis  knew  that  at  quarter  of  five  precisely  Miss 
Baker  made  a  cup  of  tea  over  the  oil  stove  on  the 
stand  between  the  bureau  and  the  window.  Miss 
Baker  felt  instinctively  the  exact  moment  when  Old 

16 


McTeague 

Grannis  took  down  his  little  binding  apparatus  from 
the  second  shelf  of  his  clothes  closet  and  began  his 
favorite  occupation  of  binding-  pamphlets — pam 
phlets  that  he  never  read,  for  all  that. 

In  his  "  Parlors  "  McTeague  began  his  week's 
work.  He  glanced  in  the  glass  saucer  in  which  he 
kept  his  sponge-gold,  and  noticing  that  he  had  used 
up  all  his  pellets,  set  about  making  some  more.  In 
examining  Miss  Baker's  teeth  at  the  preliminary 
sitting  he  had  found  a  cavity  in  one  of  the  incisors. 
Miss  Baker  had  decided  to  have  it  filled  with  gold. 
McTeague  remembered  now  that  it  was  what  is 
called  a  "  proximate  case,"  where  there  is  not  suffi 
cient  room  to  fill  with  large  pieces  of  gold.  He 
told  himself  that  he  should  have  to  use  "  mats  "  in 
the  filling.  He  made  some  dozen  of  these  "  mats  " 
from  his  tape  of  non-cohesive  gold,  cutting  it  trans 
versely  into  small  pieces  that  could  be  inserted  edge 
wise  between  the  teeth  and  consolidated  by  packing. 
After  he  had  made  his  "  mats  "  he  continued  with 
the  other  kind  of  gold  fillings,  such  as  he  would 
have  occasion  to  use  during  the  week;  "  blocks  "  to 
be  used  in  large  proximal  cavities,  made  by  folding 
the  tape  on  itself  a  number  of  times  and  then  shap 
ing  it  with  the  soldering  pliers;  "cylinders"  for  com 
mencing  fillings,  which  he  formed  by  rolling  the 
tape  around  a  needle  called  a  "  broach,"  cutting  it 
afterwards  into  different  lengths.  He  worked  slowly, 
mechanically,  turning  the  foil  between  his  fingers 
with  the  manual  dexterity  that  one  sometimes  sees 
in  stupid  persons.  His  head  was  quite  empty  of  all 
thought,  and  he  did  not  whistle  over  his  work  as 
another  man  might  have  done.  The  canary  made 
2  17 


McTeague 

up  for  his  silence,  trilling  and  chittering  continually, 
splashing  about  in  its  morning  bath,  keeping  up  an 
incessant  noise  and  movement  that  would  have  been 
maddening  to  any  one  but  McTeague,  who  seemed 
to  have  no  nerves  at  all. 

After  he  had  finished  his  fillings,  he  made  a  hook 
broach  from  a  bit  of  piano  wire  to  replace  an  old 
one  that  he  had  lost.  It  was  time  for  his  dinner 
then,  and  when  he  returned  from  the  car  conductors' 
coffee-joint,  he  found  Miss  Baker  waiting  for  him. 

The  ancient  little  dressmaker  was  at  all  times 
willing  to  talk  of  Old  Grannis  to  anybody  that 
would  listen,  quite  unconscious  of  the  gossip  of  the 
flat.  McTeague  found  her  all  a-flutter  with  ex 
citement.  Something  extraordinary  had  happened. 
She  had  found  out  that  the  wall-paper  in  Old  Gran- 
nis's  room  was  the  same  as  that  in  hers. 

"  It  has  led  me  to  thinking,  Doctor  McTeague," 
she  exclaimed,  shaking  her  little  false  curls  at  him. 
"  You  know  my  room  is  so  small,  anyhow,  and  the 
wall-paper  being  the  same — the  pattern  from  my 
room  continues  right  into  his — I  declare,  I  believe 
at  one  time  that  was  all  one  room.  Think  of  it,  do 
you  suppose  it  was?  It  almost  amounts  to  our  oc 
cupying  the  same  room.  I  don't  know — why,  really 
— do  you  think  I  should  speak  to  the  landlady  about 
it?  He  bound  pamphlets  last  night  until  half-past 
nine.  They  say  that  he's  the  younger  son  of  a 
baronet;  that  there  are  reasons  for  his  not  coming 
to  the  title;  his  stepfather  wronged  him  cruelly." 

No  one  had  ever  said  such  a  thing.  It  was  pre 
posterous  to  imagine  any  mystery  connected  with 
Old  Grannis.  'Miss  Baker  had  chosen  to  invent  the 

18 


McTeague 

little  fiction,  had  created  the  title  and  the  unjust 
stepfather  from  some  dim  memories  of  the  novels 
of  her  girlhood. 

She  took  her  place  in  the  operating  chair.  Mc 
Teague  began  the  filling.  There  was  a  long  silence. 
It  was  impossible  for  McTeague  to  work  and  talk 
at  the  same  time. 

He  was  just  burnishing  the  last  "  mat "  in  Miss 
Baker's  tooth,  when  the  door  of  the  "  Parlors " 
opened,  jangling  the  bell  which  he  had  hung  over 
it,  and  which  was  absolutely  unnecessary.  Mc 
Teague  turned,  one  foot  on  the  pedal  of  his  dental 
engine,  the  corundum  disk  whirling  between  his 
fingers. 

It  was  Marcus  Schouler  who  came  in,  ushering  a 
young  girl  of  about  twenty. 

"Hello,  Mac,"  exclaimed  Marcus;  "busy? 
Brought  my  cousin  round  about  that  broken  tooth." 

McTeague  nodded  his  head  gravely. 

"  In  a  minute,"  he  answered. 

Marcus  and  his  cousin  Trina  sat  down  in  the  rigid 
chairs  underneath  the  steel  engraving  of  the  Court 
of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici.  They  began  talking  in  low 
tones.  The  girl  looked  about  the  room,  noticing 
the  stone  pug  dog,  the  rifle  manufacturers  calen 
dar,  the  canary  in  its  little  gilt  prison,  and  the  tum 
bled  blankets  on  the  unmade  bed-lounge  against  the 
wall.  Marcus  began  telling  her  about  McTeague. 
"  We're  pals,"  he  explained,  just  above  a  whisper. 
"Ah,  Mac's  all  right,  you  bet.  Say,  Trina,  he's  the 
strongest  duck  you  ever  saw.  What  do  you  sup 
pose?  He  can  pull  out  your  teeth  with  his  fingers: 
yes,  he  can.  What  do  you  think  of  that?  With  his 

19 


McTeague 

fingers,  mind  you;  he  can,  for  a  fact.     Get  on  to  the 
size  of  him,  anyhow.     Ah,  Mac's  all  right!  " 

Maria  Macapa  had  come  into  the  room  while  he 
had  been  speaking.  She  was  making  up  Mc- 
Teague's  bed.  Suddenly  Marcus  exclaimed  under 
his  breath:  "  Now  we'll  have  some  fun.  It's  the  girl 
that  takes  care  of  the  rooms.  She's  a  greaser,  and 
she's  queer  in  the  head.  She  ain't  regularly  crazy, 
but  /  don't  know,  she's  queer.  Y'ought  to  hear  her 
go  on  about  a  gold  dinner  service  she  says  her  folks 
used  to  own.  Ask  her  what  her  name  is  and  see 
what  she'll  say."  Trina  shrank  back,  a  little  fright 
ened. 

"  No,  you  ask,"  she  whispered. 

"  Ah,  go  on;  what  you  'fraid  of?  "  urged  Marcus. 
Trina  shook  her  head  energetically,  shutting  her 
lips  together. 

"  Well,  listen  here,"  answered  Marcus,  nudging 
her;  then  raising  his  voice,  he  said: 

"How  do,  Maria?"  Maria  nodded  to  him  over 
her  shoulder  as  she  bent  over  the  lounge. 

"  Workun  hard  nowadays,  Maria?  " 

"  Pretty  hard." 

"  Didunt  always  have  to  work  for  your  living, 
though,  did  you,  when  you  ate  offa  gold  dishes?" 
Maria  didn't  answer,  except  by  putting  her  chin  in 
the  air  and  shutting  her  eyes,  as  though  to  say  she 
knew  a  long  story  about  that  if  she  had  a  mind  to 
talk.  All  Marcus's  efforts  to  draw  her  out  on  the 
subject  were  unavailing.  She  only  responded  by 
movements  of  her  head. 

"  Can't  always  start  her  going,"  Marcus  told  his 
cousin. 

20 


McTeague 

"  What  does  she  do,  though,  when  you  ask  her 
about  her  name?" 

"  Oh,  sure,"  said  Marcus,  who  had  forgotten. 
"  Say,  Maria,  what's  your  name?  " 

"  Huh? "  asked  Maria,  straightening  up,  her 
hands  on  her  hips. 

"'  Tell  us  your  name,"  repeated  Marcus. 

"  Name  is  Maria — Miranda — Macapa."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  she  added,  as  though  she  had  but  that 
moment  thought  of  it,  "  Had  a  flying  squirrel  an' 
let  him  go." 

Invariably  Maria  Macapa  made  this  answer.  It 
was  not  always  she  would  talk  about  the  famous 
service  of  gold  plate,  but  a  question  as  to  her  name 
never  failed  to  elicit  the  same  strange  answer,  de 
livered  in  a  rapid  undertone:  "Name  is  Maria — 
Miranda — Macapa."  Then,  as  if  struck  with  an 
after  thought,  "  Had  a  flying  squirrel  an'  let  him 

g°-" 

Why  Maria  should  associate  the  release  of  the 
mythical  squirrel  with  her  name  could  not  be  said. 
About  Maria  the  flat  knew  absolutely  nothing 
further  than  that  she  was  Spanish-American.  Miss 
Baker  was  the  oldest  lodger  in  the  flat,  and  Maria 
was  a  fixture  there  as  maid  of  all  work  when  she  had 
come.  There  was  a  legend  to  the  effect  that  Maria's 
people  had  been  at  one  time  immensely  wealthy  in 
Central  America. 

Maria  turned  again  to  her  work.  Trina  and  Mar 
cus  watched  her  curiously.  There  was  a  silence. 
The  corundum  burr  in  McTeague's  engine  hummed 
in  a  prolonged  monotone.  The  canary  bird  chit- 
tered  occasionally.  The  room  was  warm,  and  the 

21 


McTeague 

breathing  of  the  five  people  in  the  narrow  space 
made  the  air  close  and  thick.  At  long  intervals  an 
acrid  odor  of  ink  floated  up  from  the  branch  post- 
office  immediately  below. 

Maria  Macapa  finished  her  work  and  started  to 
leave.  As  she  passed  near  Marcus  and  his  cousin 
she  stopped,  and  drew  a  bunch  of  blue  tickets  fur 
tively  from  her  pocket.  "  Buy  a  ticket  in  the  lot 
tery?"  she  inquired,  looking  at  the  girl.  "Just  a 
dollar." 

"  Go  along  with  you,  Maria,"  said  Marcus,  who 
had  but  thirty  cents  in  his  pocket.  "  Go  along;  it's 
against  the  law." 

"  Buy  a  ticket,"  urged  Maria,  thrusting  the  bun 
dle  toward  Trina.  "  Try  your  luck.  The  butcher  on 
the  next  block  won  twenty  dollars  the  last  draw 
ing." 

Very  uneasy,  Trina  bought  a  ticket  for  the  sake 
of  being  rid  of  her.  Maria  disappeared. 

"  Ain't  she  a  queer  bird?  "  muttered  Marcus.  He 
was  much  embarrassed  and  disturbed  because  he 
had  not  bought  the  ticket  for  Trina. 

But  there  was  a  sudden  movement.  McTeague 
had  just  finished  with  Miss  Baker. 

"  You  should  notice,"  the  dressmaker  said  to  the 
dentist,  in  a  low  voice,  "  he  always  leaves  the  door 
a  little  ajar  in  the  afternoon."  When  she  had  gone 
out,  Marcus  Schouler  brought  Trina  forward. 

"  Say,  Mac,  this  is  my  cousin,  Trina  Sieppe."  The 
two  shook  hands  dumbly,  McTeague  slowly  nod 
ding  his  huge  head  with  its  great  shock  of  yellow 
hair.  Trina  was  very  small  and  prettily  made.  Her 
face  was  round  and  rather  pale;  her  eyes  long  and 

22 


McTeague 

narrow  and  blue,  like  the  half-open  eyes  of  a  little 
baby;  her  lips  and  the  lobes  of  her  tiny  ears  were 
pale,  a  little  suggestive  of  anaemia;  while  across 
the  bridge  of  her  nose  ran  an  adorable  little  line  of 
freckles.  But  it  was  to  h«r  hair  that  one's  attention 
was  most  attracted.  Heaps  and  heaps  of  blue-black 
coils  and  braids,  a  royal  crown  of  swarthy  bands, 
a  veritable  sable  tiara,  heavy,  abundant,  odorous. 
All  the  vitality  that  should  have  given  color  to  her 
face  seemed  to  have  been  absorbed  by  this  mar 
vellous  hair.  It  was  the  coiffure  of  a  queen  that 
shadowed  the  pale  temples  of  this  little  bourgeoise. 
So  heavy  was  it  that  it  tipped  her  head  backward, 
and  the  position  thrust  her  chin  out  a  little.  It  was 
a  charming  poise,  innocent,  confiding,  almost  in 
fantile. 

She  was  dressed  all  in  black,  very  modest  and 
plain.  The  effect  of  her  pale  face  in  all  this  con 
trasting  black  was  almost  monastic. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Marcus  suddenly,  "  I  got  to 
go.  Must  get  back  to  work.  Don't  hurt  her  too 
much,  Mac.  S'long,  Trina." 

McTeague  and  Trina  were  left  alone.  He  was 
embarrassed,  troubled.  These  young  girls  dis 
turbed  and  perplexed  him.  He  did  not  like  them, 
obstinately  cherishing  that  intuitive  suspicion  of  all 
things  feminine — the  perverse  dislike  of  an  over 
grown  boy.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  perfectly 
at  her  ease;  doubtless  the  woman  in  her  was  not  yet 
awakened;  she  was  yet,  as  one  might  say,  without 
sex.  She  was  almost  like  a  boy,  frank,  candid,  un 
reserved. 

She  took  her  place  in  the  operating  chair  and  told 
23 


McTeague 

him  what  was  the  matter,  looking  squarely  into  his 
face.  She  had  fallen  out  of  a  swing  the  afternoon 
of  the  preceding  day;  one  of  her  teeth  had  been 
knocked  loose  and  the  other  altogether  broken  out, 

McTeague  listened  to  her  with  apparent  stolidity, 
nodding  his  head  from  time  to  time  as  she  spoke. 
The  keenness  of  his  dislike  of  her  as  a  woman  began 
to  be  blunted.  He  thought  she  was  rather  pretty, 
that  he  even  liked  her  because  she  was  so  small,  so 
prettily  made,  so  good  natured  and  straightforward. 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  your  teeth,"  he  said,  pick 
ing  up  his  mirror.  "  You  better  take  your  hat  off." 
She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  opened  her  mouth, 
showing  the  rows  of  little  round  teeth,  as  white  and 
even  as  the  kernels  on  an  ear  of  green  corn,  except 
where  an  ugly  gap  came  at  the  side. 

McTeague  put  the  mirror  into  her  mouth,  touch 
ing  one  and  another  of  her  teeth  with  the  handle  of 
an  excavator.  By  and  by  he  straightened  up,  wip 
ing  the  moisture  from  the  mirror  on  his  coat-sleeve. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  said  the  girl,  anxiously,  "  it's  a 
dreadful  disfigurement,  isn't  it?"  adding,  "What 
can  you  do  about  it?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  McTeague,  slowly,  looking 
vaguely  about  on  the  floor  of  the  room,  "  the  roots 
of  the  broken  tooth  are  still  in  the  gum ;  they'll  have 
to  come  out,  and  I  guess  I'll  have  to  pull  that  other 
bicuspid.  Let  me  look  again.  Yes,"  he  went  on  in 
a  moment,  peering  into  her  mouth  with  the  mirror, 
"  I  guess  that'll  have  to  come  out,  too."  The  tooth 
was  loose,  discolored,  and  evidently  dead.  "  It's  a 
curious  case,"  McTeague  went  on.  "  I  don't  know 
as  I  ever  had  a  tooth  like  that  before.  It's  what's 

24 


McTeague 

called  necrosis.  It  don't  often  happen.  It'll  have 
to  come  out  sure/' 

Then  a  discussion  was  opened  on  the  subject, 
Trina  sitting  up  in  the  chair,  holding  her  hat  in  her 
lap;  McTeague  leaning  against  the  window  frame; 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes  wandering  about 
on  the  floor.  Trina  did  not  want  the  other  tooth  re 
moved;  one  hole  like  that  was  bad  enough;  but  two 
— ah,  no,  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

But  McTeague  reasoned  with  her,  tried  in  vain 
to  make  her  understand  that  there  was  no  vascular 
connection  between  the  root  and  the  gum.  Trina 
was  blindly  persistent,  with  the  persistency  of  a  girl 
who  has  made  up  her  mind. 

McTeague  began  to  like  her  better  and  better, 
and  after  a  while  commenced  himself  to  feel  that 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  disfigure  such  a  pretty  mouth. 
He  became  interested;  perhaps  he  could  do  some 
thing,  something  in  the  way  of  a  crown  or  bridge. 
"  Let's  look  at  that  again,"  he  said,  picking  up  his 
mirror.  He  began  to  study  the  situation  very 
carefully,  really  desiring  to  remedy  the  blemish. 

It  was  the  first  bicuspid  that  was  missing,  and 
though  part  of  the  root  of  the  second  (the  loose  one) 
would  remain  after  its  extraction,  he  was  sure  it 
would  not  be  strong  enough  to  sustain  a  crown.  All 
at  once  he  grew  obstinate,  resolving,  with  all  the 
strength  of  a  crude  and  primitive  man,  to  conquer 
the  difficulty  in  spite  of  everything.  He  turned  over 
in  his  mind  the  technicalities  of  the  case.  No,  evi 
dently  the  root  was  not  strong  enough  to  sustain  a 
crown;  besides  that,  it  was  placed  a  little  irregularly 
in  the  arch.  But,  fortunately,  there  were  cavities  in 
25 


McTeague 

the  two  teeth  on  either  side  of  the  gap — one  in  the 
first  molar  and  one  in  the  palatine  surface  of  the 
cuspid;  might  he  not  drill  a  socket  in  the  remain 
ing  root  and  sockets  in  the  molar  and  cuspid,  and, 
partly  by  bridging,  partly  by  crowning,  fill  in  the 
gap?  He  made  up  his  mind  to  do  it.  , 

Why  he  should  pledge  himself  to  this  hazardous 
case  McTeague  was  puzzled  to  know.  With  most 
of  his  clients  he  would  have  contented  himself  with 
the  extraction  of  the  loose  tooth  and  the  roots  of 
the  broken  one.  Why  should  he  risk  his  reputa 
tion  in  this  case?  He  could  not  say  why. 

It  was  the  most  difficult  operation  he  had  ever 
performed.  He  bungled  it  considerably,  but  in  the 
end  he  succeeded  passably  well.  He  extracted  the 
loose  tooth  with  his  bayonet  forceps  and  prepared 
the  roots  of  the  broken  one  as  if  for  filling,  fitting 
into  them  a  flattened  piece  of  platinum  wire  to 
serve  as  a  dowel.  But  this  was  only  the  beginning; 
altogether  it  was  a  fortnight's  work.  Trina  came 
nearly  every  other  day,  and  passed  two,  and  even 
three,  hours  in  the  chair. 

By  degrees  McTeague's  first  awkwardness  and 
suspicion  vanished  entirely.  The  two  became  good 
friends.  McTeague  even  arrived  at  that  point  where 
he  could  work  and  talk  to  her  at  the  same  time — a 
thing  that  had  never  before  been  possible  for  him. 

Never  until  then  had  McTeague  become  so  well 
acquainted  with  a  girl  of  Trina's  age.  The  younger 
women  of  Polk  Street — the  shop  girls,  the  young 
women  of  the  soda  fountains,  the  waitresses  in  the 
cheap  restaurants — preferred  another  dentist,  a 
young  fellow  just  graduated  from  the  college,  a 

26 


McTeague 

poser,  a  rider  of  bicycles,  a  man  about  town,  who 
wore  astonishing  waistcoats  and  bet  money  on 
greyhound  coursing.  Trina  was  McTeague's  first 
experience.  With  her  the  feminine  element  sud 
denly  entered  his  little  world.  It  was  not  only  her 
that  he  saw  and  felt,  it  was  the  woman,  the  whole 
sex,  an  entire  new  humanity,  strange  and  alluring, 
that  he  seemed  to  have  discovered.  How  had  he 
ignored  it  so  long?  It  was  dazzling,  delicious, 
charming  beyond  all  words.  His  narrow  point  of 
view  was  at  once  enlarged  and  confused,  and  all  at 
once  he  saw  that  there  was  something  else  in  life 
besides  concertinas  and  steam  beer.  Everything 
had  to  be  made  over  again.  His  whole  rude  idea 
of  life  had  to  be  changed.  The  male  virile  desire 
in  him  tardily  awakened,  aroused  itself,  strong  and 
brutal.  It  was  resistless,  untrained,  a  thing  not  to 
be  held  in  leash  an  instant. 

Little  by  little,  by  gradual,  almost  imperceptible 
degrees,  the  thought  of  Trina  Sieppe  occupied  his 
mind  from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to  hour.  He 
found  himself  thinking  of  her  constantly;  at  every 
instant  he  saw  her  round,  pale  face;  her  narrow, 
milk-blue  eyes;  her  little  out-thrust  chin;  her  heavy, 
huge  tiara  of  black  hair.  At  night  he  lay  awake  for 
hours  under  the  thick  blankets  of  the  bed-lounge, 
staring  upward  into  the  darkness,  tormented  with 
the  idea  of  her,  exasperated  at  the  delicate,  subtle 
mesh  in  which  he  found  himself  entangled.  During 
the  forenoons,  while  he  went  about  his  work,  he 
thought  of  her.  As  he  made  his  plaster-of-paris 
moulds  at  the  washstand  in  the  corner  behind  the 
screen  he  turned  over  in  his  mind  all  that  had  hap- 

27 


McTeague 

pened,  all  that  had  been  said  at  the  previous  sitting. 
Her  little  tooth  that  he  had  extracted  he  kept 
wrapped  in  a  bit  of  newspaper  in  his  vest  pocket. 
Often  he  took  it  out  and  held  it  in  the  palm  of  his 
immense,  horny  hand,  seized  with  some  strange  ele 
phantine  sentiment,  wagging  his  head  at  it,  heav 
ing  tremendous  sighs.  What  a  folly! 

At  two  o'clock  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Sat 
urdays  Trina  arrived  and  took  her  place  in  the  op 
erating  chair.  While  at  his  work  McTeague  was 
every  minute  obliged  to  bend  closely  over  her;  his 
hands  touched  her  face,  her  cheeks,  her  adorable 
little  chin;  her  lips  pressed  against  his  fingers.  She 
breathed  warmly  on  his  forehead  and  on  his  eyelids, 
while  the  odor  of  her  hair,  a  charming  feminine  per 
fume,  sweet,  heavy,  enervating,  came  to  his  nostrils, 
so  penetrating,  so  delicious,  that  his  flesh  pricked 
and  tingled  with  it;  a  veritable  sensation  of  faintness 
passed  over  this  huge,  callous  fellow,  with  his  enor 
mous  bones  and  corded  muscles.  He  drew  a  short 
breath  through  his  nose;  his  jaws  suddenly  gripped 
together  vise-like. 

But  this  was  only  at  times — a  strange,  vexing 
spasm,  that  subsided  almost  immediately.  For  the 
most  part,  McTeague  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  these 
sittings  with  Trina  with  a  certain  strong  calmness, 
blindly  happy  that  she  was  there.  This  poor  crude 
dentist  of  Polk  Street,  stupid,  ignorant,  vulgar,  with 
his  sham  education  and  plebeian  tastes,  whose  only 
relaxations  were  to  eat,  to  drink  steam  beer,  and  to 
play  upon  his  concertina,  was  living  through  his  first 
romance,  his  first  idyl.  It  was  delightful.  The  long 
hours  he  passed  alone  with  Trina  in  the  "  Dental 

28 


McTeague 

Parlors,"  silent,  only  for  the  scraping  of  the  instru 
ments  and  the  purring  of  bud-burrs  in  the  engine, 
in  the  foul  atmosphere,  overheated  by  the  little  stove 
and  heavy  with  the  smell  of  ether,  creosote,  and 
stale  bedding,  had  all  the  charm  of  secret  appoint 
ments  and  stolen  meetings  under  the  moon. 

By  degrees  the  operation  progressed.  One  dayr 
just  after  McTeague  had  put  in  the  temporary 
gutta-percha  fillings  and  nothing  more  could  be 
done  at  that  sitting,  Trina  asked  him  to  examine  the 
rest  of  her  teeth.  They  were  perfect,  with  one  ex 
ception — a  spot  of  white  caries  on  the  lateral  sur 
face  of  an  incisor.  McTeague  filled  it  with  gold,  en 
larging  the  cavity  with  hard-bits  and  hoe-excavat 
ors,  and  burring  in  afterward  with  half-cone  burrs. 
The  cavity  was  deep,  and  Trina  began  to  wince  and 
moan.  To  hurt  Trina  was  a  positive  anguish  for 
McTeague,  yet  an  anguish  which  he  was  obliged  to 
endure  at  every  hour  of  the  sitting.  It  was  harrow 
ing — he  sweated  under  it — to  be  forced  to  torture 
her,  of  all  women  in  the  world;  could  anything  be 
worse  than  that? 

"  Hurt?  "  he  inquired,  anxiously. 

She  answered  by  frowning,  with  a  sharp  intake 
of  breath,  putting  her  fingers  over  her  closed  lips 
and  nodding  her  head.  McTeague  sprayed  the 
tooth  with  glycerite  of  tannin,  but  without  effect. 
Rather  than  hurt  her  he  found  himself  forced  to  the 
use  of  anaesthesia,  which  he  hated.  He  had  a  notion 
that  the  nitrous  oxide  gas  was  dangerous,  so  on 
this  occasion,  as  on  all  others,  used  ether. 

He  put  the  sponge  a  half  dozen  times  to  Trina's 
face,  more  nervous  than  he  had  ever  been  before, 

29 


McTeague 

watching  the  symptoms  closely.  Her  breathing  be 
came  short  and  irregular;  there  was  a  slight  twitch 
ing  of  the  muscles.  When  her  thumbs  turned  in 
ward  toward  the  palms,  he  took  the  sponge  away. 
She  passed  off  very  quickly,  and,  with  a  long  sigh, 
sank  back  into  the  chair. 

McTeague  straightened  up,  putting  the  sponge 
upon  the  rack  behind  him,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
Trina's  face.  For  some  time  he  stood  watching  her 
as  she  lay  there,  unconscious  and  helpless,  and  very 
pretty.  He  was  alone  with  her,  and  she  was  abso 
lutely  without  defense. 

Suddenly  the  animal  in  the  man  stirred  and  woke; 
the  evil  instincts  that  in  him  were  so  close  to  the 
surface  leaped  to  life,  shouting  and  clamoring. 

It  was  a  crisis — a  crisis  that  had  arisen  all  in  an 
instant;  a  crisis  for  which  he  was  totally  unprepared. 
Blindly,  and  without  knowing  why,  McTeague 
fought  against  it,  moved  by  an  unreasoned  instinct 
of  resistance.  Within  him,  a  certain  second  self, 
another  better  McTeague  rose  with  the  brute;  both 
were  strong,  with  the  huge  crude  strength  of  the 
man  himself.  The  two  were  at  grapples.  There  in 
that  cheap  and  shabby  "  Dental  Parlor  "  a  dreaded 
struggle  began.  It  was  the  old  battle,  old  as  the 
world,  wide  as  the  world — the  sudden  panther 
leap  of  the  animal,  lips  drawn,  fangs  aflash,  hideous, 
monstrous,  not  to  be  resisted,  and  the  simultaneous 
arousing  of  the  other  man,  the  better  self  that  cries, 
"  Down,  down,"  without  knowing  why;  that  grips 
the  monster;  that  fights  to  strangle  it,  to  thrust  it 
down  and  back. 

Dizzied  and  bewildered  with  the  shock,  the  like 
30 


McTeague 

of  which  he  had  never  known  before,  McTeague 
turned  from  Trina,  gazing  bewilderedly  about  the 
room.  The  struggle  wras  bitter;  his  teeth  ground 
themselves  together  with  a  little  rasping  sound;  the 
blood  sang  in  his  ears;  his  face  flushed  scarlet;  his 
hands  twisted  themselves  together  like  the  knotting 
of  cables.  The  fury  in  him  was  as  the  fury  of  a 
young  bull  in  the  heat  of  high  summer.  But  for  all 
that  he  shook  his  huge  head  from  time  to  time, 
muttering: 

"No,  by  God!     No,  by  God!" 

Dimly  he  seemed  to  realize  that  should  he  yield 
now  he  would  never  be  able  to  care  for  Trina  again. 
She  would  never  be  the  same  to  'him,  never  so 
radiant,  so  sweet,  so  adorable;  her  charm  for  him 
would  vanish  in  an  instant.  Across  her  forehead, 
her  little  pale  forehead,  under  the  shadow  of  her 
royal  hair,  he  would  surely  see  the  smudge  of  a 
foul  ordure,  the  footprint  of  the  monster.  It  would 
be  a  sacrilege,  an  abomination.  He  recoiled  from 
it,  banding  all  his  strength  to  the  issue. 

"No,  by  God!     No,  by  God!" 

He  turned  to  his  work,  as  if  seeking  a  refuge  in 
it.  But  as  he  drew  near  to  her  again,  the  charm  of 
her  innocence  and  helplessness  came  over  him 
afresh.  It  was  a  final  protest  against  his  resolution. 
Suddenly  he  leaned  over  and  kissed  her,  grossly, 
full  on  the  mouth.  The  thing  was  done  before  he 
knew  it.  Terrified  at  his  weakness  at  the  very  mo 
ment  he  believed  himself  strong,  he  threw  himself 
once  more  into  his  work  with  desperate  energy.  By 
the  time  he  was  fastening  the  sheet  of  rubber  upon 
the  tooth,  he  had  himself  once  more  in  hand.  He 

31 


McTeague 

was  disturbed,  still  trembling,  still  vibrating  with  the 
throes  of  the  crisis,  but  he  was  the  master;  the 
animal  was  downed,  was  cowed  for  this  time,  at 
least. 

But  for  all  that,  the  brute  was  there.  Long  dor 
mant,  it  was  now  at  last  alive,  awake.  From  now 
on  he  would  feel  its  presence  continually;  would  feel 
it  tugging  at  its  chain,  watching  its  opportunity. 
Ah,  the  pity  of  it!  Why  could  he  not  always  love 
her  purely,  cleanly?  What  was  this  perverse, 
vicious  thing  that  lived  within  him,  knitted  to  his 
flesh? 

Below  the  fine  fabric  of  all  that  was  good  in  him 
ran  the  foul  stream  of  hereditary  evil,  like  a  sewer. 
The  vices  and  sins  of  his  father  and  of  his  father's 
father,  to  the  third  and  fourth  and  five  hundredth 
generation,  tainted  him.  The  evil  of  an  entire  race 
flowed  in  his  veins.  Why  should  it  be?  He  did  not 
desire  it.  Was  he  to  blame? 

But  McTeague  could  not  understand  this  thing. 
It  had  faced  him,  as  sooner  or  later  it  faces  every 
child  of  man;  but  its  significance  was  not  for  him. 
To  reason  with  it  was  beyond  him.  He  could  only 
oppose  to  it  an  instinctive  stubborn  resistance,  blind, 
inert. 

McTeague  went  on  with  his  work.  As  he  was 
rapping  in  the  little  blocks  and  cylinders  with  the 
mallet,  Trina  slowly  came  back  to  herself  with  a 
long  sigh.  She  still  felt  a  little  confused,  and  lay 
quiet  in  the  chair.  There  was  a  long  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  uneven  tapping  of  the  hardwood  mal 
let.  By  and  by  she  said,  "  I  never  felt  a  thing,"  and 
then  she  smiled  at  him  very  prettily  beneath  the 

32 


McTeague 

rubber  dam.  McTeague  turned  to  her  suddenly,  his 
mallet  in  one  hand,  his  pliers  holding  a  pellet  of 
sponge-gold  in  the  other.  All  at  once  he  said,  with 
the  unreasoned  simplicity  and  directness  of  a  child: 
"  Listen  here,  Miss  Trina,  I  like  you  better  than  any 
one  else;  what's  the  matter  with  us  getting  mar 
ried?" 

Trina  sat  up  in  the  chair  quickly,  and  then  drew 
back  from  him,  frightened  and  bewildered. 

"Will  you?  Will  you?  "said  McTeague.  "Say, 
Miss  Trina,  will  you?  " 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  mean?"  she  cried, 
confusedly,  her  words  muffled  beneath  the  rubber. 

"  Will  you?  "  repeated  McTeague. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  refusing  without  know 
ing  why,  suddenly  seized  with  a  fear  of  him,  the  in 
tuitive  feminine  fear  of  the  male.  McTeague  could 
only  repeat  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again. 
Trina,  more  and  more  frightened  at  his  huge  hands 
— the  hands  of  the  old-time  car-boy — his  immense 
square-cut  head  and  his  enormous  brute  strength, 
cried  out:  "  No,  no,"  behind  the  rubber  dam,  shak 
ing  her  head  violently,  holding  out  her  hands,  and 
shrinking  down  before  him  in  the  operating  chair. 
McTeague  came  nearer  to  her,  repeating  the  same 
question.  "  No,  no,"  she  cried,  terrified.  Then,  as 
she  exclaimed,  "Oh,  I  am  sick,"  was  suddenly  taken 
with  a  fit  of  vomiting.  It  was  the  not  unusual  after 
effect  of  the  ether,  aided  now  by  her  excitement  and 
nervousness.  McTeague  was  checked.  He  poured 
some  bromide  of  potassium  into  a  graduated  glass 
and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Here,  swallow  this,"  he  said. 
3  33 


III. 


Once  every  two  months  Maria  Macapa  set  the  en 
tire  flat  in  commotion.  She  roamed  the  building 
from  garret  to  cellar,  searching  each  corner,  ferret 
ing  through  every  old  box  and  trunk  and  barrel, 
groping  about  on  the  top  shelves  of  closets,  peering 
into  ragbags,  exasperating  the  lodgers  with  her 
persistence  and  importunity.  She  was  collecting 
junks,  bits  of  iron,  stone  jugs,  glass  bottles,  old  sacks, 
and  cast-off  garments.  It  was  one  of  her  perquisites. 
She  sold  the  junk  to  Zerkow,  the  rags-bottles-sacks 
man,  who  lived  in  a  filthy  den  in  the  alley  just  back 
of  the  flat,  and  who  sometimes  paid  her  as  much 
as  three  cents  a  pound.  The  stone  jugs,  how 
ever,  were  worth  a  nickel.  The  money  that  Zerkow 
paid  her,  Maria  spent  on  shirt  waists  and  dotted  blue 
neckties,  trying  to  dress  like  the  girls  who  tended 
the  soda-water  fountain  in  the  candy  store  on  the 
corner.  She  was  sick  with  envy  of  these  young 
women.  They  were  in  the  world,  they  were  elegant, 
they  were  debonair,  they  had  their  ''  young  men." 

On  this  occasion  she  presented  herself  at  the  door 
of  Old  Grannis's  room  late  in  the  afternoon.  His 
door  stood  a  little  open.  That  of  Miss  Baker  was 
ajar  a  few  inches.  The  two  old  people  were  "  keep 
ing  company  "  after  their  fashion. 

"Got  any  junk,  Mister  Grannis?"  inquired  Maria, 
standing  in  the  door,  a  very  dirty,  half-filled  pillow 
case  over  one  arm. 

34 


McTeague 

"  No,  nothing — nothing  that  I  can  think  of, 
Maria,"  replied  Old  Grannis,  terribly  vexed  at  the 
interruption,  yet  not  wishing  to  be  unkind.  "  Noth 
ing  I  think  of.  Yet,  however — perhaps — if  you 
wish  to  look." 

He  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  room  before  a  small 
pine  table.  His  little  binding  apparatus  was  before 
him.  In  his  fingers  was  a  huge  upholsterer's  needle 
threaded  with  twine,  a  brad-awl  lay  at  his  elbow, 
on  the  floor  beside  him  was  a  great  pile  of  pam 
phlets,  the  pages  uncut.  Old  Grannis  bought  the 
"  Nation  "  and  the  "  Breeder  and  Sportsman."  In 
the  latter  he  occasionally  found  articles  on  dogs 
which  interested  him.  The  former  he  seldom  read. 
He  could  not  afford  to  subscribe  regularly  to  either 
of  the  publications,  but  purchased  their  back  num 
bers  by  the  score,  almost  solely  for  the  pleasure  he 
took  in  binding  them. 

"  What  you  alus  sewing  up  them  books  for,  Mis 
ter  Grannis?  "  asked  Maria,  as  she  began  rummag 
ing  about  in  Old  Grannis's  closet  shelves.  "  There's 
just  hundreds  of  'em  in  here  on  yer  shelves;  they 
ain't  no  good  to  you." 

"  Well,  well,"  answered  Old  Grannis,  timidly, 
rubbing  his  chin,  "I — I'm  sure  I  can't  quite  say; 
a  little  'habit,  you  know;  a  diversion,  a — a — it  oc 
cupies  one,  you  know.  I  don't  smoke;  it  takes  the 
place  of  a  pipe,  perhaps." 

"  Here's  this  old  yellow  pitcher,"  said  Maria, 
coming  out  of  the  closet  with  it  in  her  hand.  "  The 
handle's  cracked;  vou  don't  want  it;  better  give  me 
it." 

Old  Grannis  did  want  the  pitcher;  true,  he  never 
35 


McTeague 

used  it  now,  but  he  had  kept  it  a  long  time,  and 
somehow  he  held  to  it  as  old  people  hold  to  triv 
ial,  worthless  things  that  they  have  had  for  many' 
years. 

"  Oh,  that  pitcher — well,  Maria,  I — I  don't  know. 
I'm  afraid — you  see,  that  pitcher " 

"  Ah,  go  'long,"  interrupted  Maria  Macapa, 
"  what's  the  good  of  it?  " 

"  If  you  insist,  Maria,  but  I  would  much  rather — " 
he  rubbed  his  chin,  perplexed  and  annoyed,  hating 
to  refuse,  and  wishing  that  Maria  were  gone. 

"  Why,  what's  the  good  of  it?"  persisted  Maria. 
He  could  give  no  sufficient  answer.  "  That's  all 
right,"  she  asserted,  carrying  the  pitcher  out. 

"Ah — Maria — I  say,  you — you  might  leave  the 
door — ah,  don't  quite  shut  it — it's  a  bit  close  in  here 
at  times."  Maria  grinned,  and  swung  the  door  wide. 
Old  Grannis  was  horribly  embarrassed;  positively, 
Maria  was  becoming  unbearable. 

"Got  any  junk?"  cried  Maria  at  Miss  Baker's 
door.  The  little  old  lady  was  sitting  close  to  the 
wall  in  her  rocking-chair;  her  hands  resting  idly  in 
her  lap. 

"  Now,  Maria,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  you  are  al 
ways  after  junk;  you  know  I  never  have  anything 
laying  'round  like  that." 

It  was  true.  The  retired  dressmaker's  tiny  room 
was  a  marvel  of  neatness,  from  the  little  red  table, 
with  its  three  Gorham  spoons  laid  in  exact  parallels, 
to  the  decorous  geraniums  and  mignonettes  grow 
ing  in  the  starch  box  at  the  window,  underneath  the 
fish  globe  with  its  one  venerable  gold  fish.  That 
day  Miss  Baker  had  been  doing  a  bit  of  washing; 

36 


McTeague 

two  pocket  handkerchiefs,  still  moist,  adhered  to 
the  window  panes,  drying  in  the  sun. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  got  something  you  don't  want," 
Maria  went  on,  peering  into  the  corners  of  the  room. 
"  Look-a-here  what  Mister  Grannis  gi'  me,"  and  she 
held  out  the  yellow  pitcher.  Instantly  Miss  Baker 
was  in  a  quiver  of  confusion.  Every  word  spoken 
aloud  could  be  perfectly  heard  in  the  next  room. 
What  a  stupid  drab  was  this  Maria!  Could  anything 
be  more  trying  than  this  position? 

"Ain't  that  right,  Mister  Grannis?  "  called  Maria; 
"  didn't  you  gi'  me  this  pitcher?  "  Old  Grannis  af 
fected  not  to  hear;  perspiration  stood  on  his  fore 
head;  his  timidity  overcame  him  as  if  he  were  a  ten- 
year-old  schoolboy.  He  half  rose  from  his  chair, 
his  fingers  dancing  nervously  upon  his  chin. 

Maria  opened  Miss  Baker's  closet  unconcernedly. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  these  old  shoes?  "  she  ex 
claimed,  turning  about  with  a  pair  of  half-worn  silk 
gaiters  in  her  hand.  They  were  by  no  means  old 
enough  to  throw  away,  but  Miss  Baker  was  almost 
beside  herself.  There  was  no  telling  what  might 
happen  next.  Her  only  thought  was  to  be  rid  of 
Maria. 

"Yes,,  yes,  anything.  You  can  have  them;  but 
go,  go.  There's  nothing  else,  not  a  thing." 

Maria  went  out  into  the  hall,  leaving  Miss  Baker's 
door  wide  open,  as  if  maliciously.  She  had  left  the 
dirty  pillow-case  on  the  floor  in  the  hall,  and  she 
stood  outside,  between  the  two  open  doors,  stowing 
away  the  old  pitcher  and  the  half-worn  silk  shoes. 
She  made  remarks  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  calling 
now  to  Miss  Baker,  now  to  Old  Grannis.  In  a  way 

37 


McTeague 

she  brought  the  two  old  people  face  to  face.  Each 
time  they  were  forced  to  answer  her  questions  it 
was  as  if  they  were  talking  directly  to  each  other. 

"  These  here  are  first-rate  shoes,  Miss  Baker. 
Look  here,  Mister  Grannis,  get  on  to  the  shoes  Miss 
Baker  gi'  me.  You  ain't  got  a  pair  you  don't  want, 
have  you?  You  two  people  have  less  junk  than  any 
one  else  in  the  flat.  How  do  you  manage,  Mister 
Grannis?  You  old  bachelors  are  just  like  old  maids, 
just  as  neat  as  pins.  You  two  are  just  alike — you 
and  Mister  Grannis — ain't  you,  Miss  Baker?  " 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  horribly  con 
strained,  more  awkward.  The  two  old  people  suf 
fered  veritable  torture.  When  Maria  had  gone,  each 
heaved  a  sigh  of  unspeakable  relief.  Softly  they 
pushed  to  their  doors,  leaving  open  a  space  of  half 
a  dozen  inches.  Old  Grannis  went  back  to  his  bind 
ing.  Miss  Baker  brewed  a  cup  of  tea  to  quiet  her 
nerves.  Each  tried  to  regain  their  composure,  but 
in  vain.  Old  Grannis's  fingers  trembled  so  that  he 
pricked  them  with  his  needle.  Miss  Baker  dropped 
her  spoon  twice.  Their  nervousness  would  not  wear 
off.  They  were  perturbed,  upset.  In  a  word,  the 
afternoon  was  spoiled. 

Maria  went  on  about  the  flat  from  room  to 
room.  She  had  already  paid  Marcus  Schouler  a  visit 
early  that  morning  before  he  had  gone  out.  Mar 
cus  had  sworn  at  her,  excitedly  vociferating;  "  No, 
by  damn!  No,  he  hadn't  a  thing  for  her;  he  hadn't, 
for  a  fact.  It  was  a  positive  persecution.  Every 
day  his  privacy  was  invaded.  He  would  complain 
to  the  landlady,  he  would.  He'd  move  out  of  the 
place."  In  the  end  he  had  given  Maria  seven  empty 

33 


McTeague 

whiskey  flasks,  an  iron  grate,  and  ten  cents — the  lat 
ter  because  he  said  she  wore  her  hair  like  a  girl  he. 
used  to  know. 

After  coming  from  Miss  Baker's  room  Maria 
knocked  at  McTeague's  door.  The  dentist  was  ly 
ing  on  the  bed-lounge  in  his  stocking  feet,  doing 
nothing  apparently,  gazing  up  at  the  ceiling,  lost  in 
thought. 

Since  he  had  spoken  to  Trina  Sieppe,  ask 
ing  her  so  abruptly  to  marry  him,  McTeague  had 
passed  a  week  of  torment.  For  him  there  was  no 
going  back.  It  was  Trina  now,  and  none  other.  It 
was  all  one  with  him  that  his  best  friend,  Marcus, 
might  be  in  love  with  the  same  girl.  He  must  have 
Trina  in  spite  of  everything;  he  would  have  her 
even  in  spite  of  herself.  He  did  not  stop  to  reflect 
about  the  matter;  he  followed  his  desire  blindly, 
recklessly,  furious  and  raging  at  every  obstacle. 
And  she  had  cried  "  No,  no!  "  back  at  him;  he  could 
not  forget  that.  She,  so  small  and  pale  and  delicate, 
had  held  him  at  bay,  who  was  so  huge,  so  im 
mensely  strong. 

Besides  that,  all  the  charm  of  their  intimacy  was 
gone.  After  that  unhappy  sitting,  Trina  was  no 
longer  frank  and  straightforward.  Now  she  was 
circumspect,  reserved,  distant.  He  could  no  longer 
open  his  mouth;  words  failed  him.  At  one  sitting 
in  particular  they  had  said  but  good-day  and  good- 
by  to  each  other.  He  felt  that  he  was  clumsy  and 
ungainly.  He  told  himself  that  she  despised  him. 

But  the  memory  of  her  was  with  him  constantly. 
Night  after  night  he  lay  broad  awake  thinking  of 
Trina,  wondering  about  her,  racked  with  the  in- 

39 


McTeague 

finite  desire  of  her.  His  head  burnt  and  throbbed. 
The  palms  of  his  hands  were  dry.  He  dozed  and" 
woke,  and  walked  aimlessly  about  the  dark  room, 
bruising  himself  against  the  three  chairs  drawn  up 
"  at  attention "  under  the  steel  engraving,  and 
stumbling  over  the  stone  pug  dog  that  sat  in  front 
of  the  little  stove. 

Besides  this,  the  jealousy  of  Marcus  Schouler  har 
assed  him.  Maria  Macapa,  coming  into  his  "  Par 
lor  "  to  ask  for  junk,  found  him  flung  at  length  upon 
the  bed-lounge,  gnawing  at  his  fingers  in  an  excess 
of  silent  fury.  At  lunch  that  day  Marcus  had  told 
him  of  an  excursion  that  was  planned  for  the  next 
Sunday  afternoon.  Mr.  Sieppe,  Trina's  father,  be 
longed  to  a  rifle  club  that  was  to  hold  a  meet  at 
Schuetzen  Park  across  the  bay.  All  the  Sieppes 
were  going;  there  was  to  be  a  basket  picnic.  Mar 
cus,  as  usual,  was  invited  to  be  one  of  the  party. 
McTeague  was  in  agony.  It  was  his  first  expe 
rience,  and  he  suffered  all  the  worse  for  it  because 
he  was  totally  unprepared.  What  miserable  com 
plication  was  this  in  which  he  found  himself  in 
volved?  It  seemed  so  simple  to  him  since  he  loved 
Trina  to  take  her  straight  to  himself,  stopping  at 
nothing,  asking  no  questions,  to  have  her,  and  by 
main  strength  to  carry  her  far  away  somewhere,  he 
did  not  know  exactly  where,  to  some  vague  coun 
try,  some  undiscovered  place  where  every  day  was 
Sunday. 

"Got  any  junk?" 

"Huh?     What?     What  is  it?"  exclaimed  Mo 
Teague,    suddenly    rousing   up   from    the    lounge. 
Often  Maria  did  very  well  in  the  "  Dental  Parlors." 
40 


McTeague 

McTeague  was  continually  breaking  things  which 
he  was  too  stupid  to  have  mended;  for  him  any 
thing  that  was  broken  was  lost.  Now  it  was  a  cus 
pidor,  now  a  fire-shovel  for  the  little  stove,  now  a 
China  shaving  mug. 

"Got  any  junk?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  remember,"  muttered 
McTeague.  Maria  roamed  about  the  room,  Mc 
Teague  following  her  in  his  huge  stockinged  feet. 
All  at  once  she  pounced  upon  a  sheaf  of  old  hand 
instruments  in  a  coverless  cigar-box,  pluggers,  hard 
bits,  and  excavators.  Maria  had  long  coveted  such 
a  find  in  McTeague's  "  Parlor,"  knowing  it  should 
be  somewhere  about.  The  instruments  were  of  the 
finest  tempered  steel  and  really  valuable. 

"Say,  Doctor,  I  can  have  these,  can't  I?"  ex 
claimed  Maria.  "  You  got  no  more  use  for  them." 
McTeague  was  not  at  all  sure  of  this.  There  were 
many  in  the  sheaf  that  might  be  repaired,  reshaped. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  wagging  his  head.  But  Maria 
Macapa,  knowing  with  whom  she  had  to  deal,  at 
once  let  loose  a  torrent  of  words.  She  made  the 
dentist  believe  that  he  had  no  right  to  withhold 
them,  that  he  had  promised  to  save  them  for  her. 
She  affected  a  great  indignation,  pursing  her  lips 
and  putting  her  chin  in  the  air  as  though  wounded 
in  some  finer  sense,  changing  so  rapidly  from  one 
mood  to  another,  filling  the  room  with  such  shrill 
clamor,  that  McTeague  was  dazed  and  benumbed. 

"  Yes,  all  right,  all  right,"  he  said,  trying  to  make 
himself  heard.  "  It  would  be  mean.  I  don't  want 
'em."  As  he  turned  from  her  to  pick  up  the  box, 
Maria  took  advantage  of  the  moment  to  steal  three 

41 


McTeague 

of  sponge-gold  out  of  the  glass  saucer. 
Often  she  stole  McTeague's  gold,  almost  under  his 
very  eyes ;  indeed,  it  was  so  easy  to  do  so  that  there 
was  but  little  pleasure  in  the  theft.  Then  Maria 
took  herself  off.  McTeague  returned  to  the  sofa 
and  flung  himself  upon  it  face  downward. 

A  little  before  supper  time  Maria  completed  her 
search.  The  flat  was  cleaned  of  its  junk  from  top 
to  bottom.  The  dirty  pillow-case  was  full  to  burst 
ing.  She  took  advantage  of  the  supper  hour  to 
carry  her  bundle  around  the  corner  and  up  into  the 
alley  where  Zerkow  lived. 

When  Maria  entered  his  shop,  Zerkow  had  just 
come  in  from  his  daily  rounds.  His  decrepit  wagon 
stood  in  front  of  his  door  like  a  stranded  wreck;  the 
miserable  horse,  with  its  lamentable  swollen  joints, 
fed  greedily  upon  an  armful  of  spoiled  hay  in  a  shed 
at  the  back. 

The  interior  of  the  junk  shop  was  dark  and  damp, 
and  foul  with  all  manner  of  choking  odors.  On  the 
walls,  on  the  floor,  and  hanging  from  the  rafters 
was  a  world  of  debris,  dust-blackened,  rust-cor 
roded.  Everything  was  there,  every  trade  was  rep 
resented,  every  class  of  society;  things  of  iron  and 
cloth  and  wood;  all  the  detritus  that  a  great  city 
sloughs  off  in  its  daily  life.  Zerkow's  junk  shop  was 
the  last  abiding-place,  the  almshouse,  of  such  ar 
ticles  as  had  outlived  their  usefulness. 

Maria  found  Zerkow  himself  in  the  back  room, 
cooking  some  sort  of  a  meal  over  an  alcohol  stove. 
Zerkow  was  a  Polish  Jew — curiously  enough  his 
hair  was  fiery  red.  He  was  a  dry,  shrivelled  old  man 
of  sixty  odd.  He  had  the  thin,  eager,  cat-like  lips 

42 


McTeague 

of  the  covetous ;  eyes  that  had  grown  keen  as  those 
of  a  lynx  from  long  searching  amidst  muck  and 
debris; and  claw-like, prehensile  fingers — the  fingers 
of  a  man  who  accumulates,  but  never  disburses.  It 
was  impossible  to  look  at  Zerkow  and  not  know  in 
stantly  that  greed — inordinate,  insatiable  greed — 
was  the  dominant  passion  of  the  man.  He  was  the 
Man  with  the  Rake,  groping  hourly  in  the  muck- 
heap  of  the  city  for  gold,  for  gold,  for  gold.  It  was 
his  dream,  his  passion;  at  every  instant  he  seemed  to 
feel  the  generous  solid  weight  of  the  crude  fat  metal 
in  his  palms.  The  glint  of  it  was  constantly  in  his 
eyes;  the  jangle  of  it  sang  forever  in  his  ears  as 
the  jangling  of  cymbals. 

"  Who  is  it?  Who  is  it?"  exclaimed  Zerkow,  as 
he  heard  Maria's  footsteps  in  the  outer  room.  His 
voice  was  faint,  husky,  reduced  almost  to  a  whisper 
by  his  prolonged  habit  of  street  crying. 

"  Oh,  it's  you  again,  is  it?  "  he  added,  peering 
through  the  gloom  of  the  shop.  "  Let's  see;  you've 
been  here  before,  ain't  you?  You're  the  Mexican 
woman  from  Polk  Street.  Macapa's  your  name, 
hey?" 

Maria  nodded.  "  Had  a  flying  squirrel  an'  let  him 
go,"  she  muttered,  absently.  Zerkow  was  puzzled; 
he  looked  at  her  sharply  for  a  moment,  then  dis 
missed  the  matter  with  a  movement  of  his  head. 

"  Well,  what  you  got  for  me?  "  he  said.  He  left 
his  supper  to  grow  cold,  absorbed  at  once  in  the 
affair. 

Then  a  long  wrangle  began.  Every  bit  of  junk  in 
Maria's  pillow-case  was  discussed  and  weighed  and 
disputed.  They  clamored  into  each  other's  faces 

43 


McTeague 

over  Old  Grannis's  cracked  pitcher,  over  Miss  Ba 
ker's  silk  gaiters,  over  Marcus  Schoulers  whiskey 
flasks,  reaching  the  climax  of  disagreement  when 
it  came  to  McTeague's  instruments. 

"  Ah,  no,  no!  "  shouted  Maria.  "  Fifteen  cents  for 
the  lot!  I  might  as  well  make  you  a  Christmas  pres 
ent!  Besides,  I  got  some  gold  fillings  off  him;  look 
at  um." 

Zerkow  drew  a  quick  breath  as  the  three  pellets 
suddenly  flashed  in  Maria's  palm.  There  it  was,  the 
virgin  metal,  the  pure,  unalloyed  ore,  his  dream,  his 
consuming  desire.  His  fingers  twitched  and  hooked 
themselves  into  his  palms,  his  thin  lips  drew  tight 
across  his  teeth. 

"  Ah,  you  got  some  gold,"  he  muttered,  reaching 
for  it. 

Maria  shut  her  fist  over  the  pellets.  "  The  gold 
goes  with  the  others,"  she  declared.  "  You'll  gi' 
me  a  fair  price  for  the  lot,  or  I'll  take  um  back." 

In  the  end  a  bargain  was  struck  that  satisfied 
Maria.  Zerkow  was  not  one  who  would  let  gold 
go  out  of  his  house.  He  counted  out  to  her  the 
price  of  all  her  junk,  grudging  each  piece  of  money 
as  if  it  had  been  the  blood  of  his  veins.  The  affair 
was  concluded. 

But  Zerkow  still  had  something  to  say.  As  Maria 
folded  up  the  pillow-case  and  rose  to  go,  the  old 
Jew  said: 

"  Well,  see  here  a  minute,  we'll — you'll  have  a 
drink  before  you  go,  won't  you?  Just  to  show  that 
it's  all  right  between  us."  Maria  sat  down  again. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  I'll  have  a  drink,"  she  answered. 

Zerkow  took  down  a  whiskey  bottle  and  a  red 

44 


McTeague 

glass  tumbler  with  a  broken  base  from  a  cupboard 
on  the  wall.  The  two  drank  together,  Zerkow  from 
the  bottle,  Maria  from  the  broken  tumbler.  They 
wiped  their  lips  slowly,  drawing  breath  again. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Say,"  said  Zerkow  at  last,  "  how  about  those 
gold  dishes  you  told  me  about  the  last  time  you  were 
here?" 

"  What  gold  dishes?  "  inquired  Maria,  puzzled. 

"  Ah,  you  know,"  returned  the  other.  "  The  plate 
your  father  owned  in  Central  America  a  long  time 
ago.  Don't  you  know,  it  rang  like  so  many  bells? 
Red  gold,  you  know,  like  oranges?  " 

"  Ah/'  said  Maria,  putting  her  chin  in  the  air  as 
if  she  knew  a  long  story  about  that  if  she  had  a 
mind  to  tell  it.  "  Ah,  yes,  that  gold  service." 

"  Tell  us  about  it  again,"  said  Zerkow,  his  blood 
less  lower  lip  moving  against  the  upper,  his  claw- 
like  fingers  feeling  about  his  mouth  and  chin. 
"  Tell  us  about  it;  go  on." 

He  was  breathing  short,  his  limbs  trembled  a  lit 
tle.  It  was  as  if  some  hungry  beast  of  prey  had 
scented  a  quarry.  Maria  still  refused,  putting  up 
her  head,  insisting  that  she  had  to  be  going. 

"  Let's  have  it,"  insisted  the  Jew.  "  Take  another 
drink."  Maria  took  another  swallow  of  the  whis 
key.  "  Now,  go  on,"  repeated  Zerkow;  "  let's  have 
the  story."  Maria  squared  her  elbows  on  the  deal 
table,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her  with  eyes  that 
saw  nothing. 

"  Well,  it  was  this  way,"  she  began.  "  It  was  when 
I  was  little.  My  folks  must  have  been  rich,  oh,  rich 
into  the  millions — coffee,  I  guess — and  there  was  a 

45 


McTeague 

large  house,  but  I  can  only  remember  the  plate. 
Oh,  that  service  of  plate!  It  was  wonderful.  There 
were  more  than  a  hundred  pieces,  and  every  one  of 
them  gold.  You  should  have  seen  the  sight  when 
the  leather  trunk  was  opened.  It  fair  dazzled  your 
eyes.  It  was  a  yellow  blaze  like  a  fire,  like  a  sun 
set;  such  a  glory,  all  piled  up  together,  one  piece 
over  the  other.  Why,  if  the  room  was  dark  you'd 
think  you  could  see  just  the  same  with  all  that  glit 
ter  there.  There  wa'n't  a  piece  that  was  so  much 
as  scratched;  every  one  was  like  a  mirror,  smooth 
and  bright,  just  like  a  little  pool  when  the  sun  shines 
into  it.  There  was  dinner  dishes  and  soup  tureens 
and  pitchers ;  and  great,  big  platters  as  long  as  that, 
and  wide  too;  and  cream-jugs  and  bowls  with 
carved  handles,  all  vines  and  things;  and  drinking 
mugs,  every  one  a  different  shape;  and  dishes  for 
gravy  and  sauces ;  and  then  a  great,  big  punch-bowl 
with  a  ladle,  and  the  bowl  was  all  carved  out  with 
figures  and  bunches  of  grapes.  Why,  just  only  that 
punch-bowl  was  worth  a  fortune,  I  guess.  When 
all  that  plate  was  set  out  on  a  table,  it  was  a  sight 
for  a  king  to  look  at.  Such  a  service  as  that  was! 
Each  piece  was  heavy,  oh,  so  heavy!  and  thick,  you 
know;  thick,  fat  gold,  nothing  but  gold — red,  shin 
ing,  pure  gold,  orange  red — and  when  you  struck  it 
with  your  knuckle,  ah,  you  should  have  heard!  No 
church  bell  ever  rang  sweeter  or  clearer.  It  was 
soft  gold,  too;  you  could  bite  into  it,  and  leave  the 
dent  of  your  teeth.  Oh,  that  gold  plate!  I  can  see 
it  just  as  plain — solid,  solid,  heavy,  rich,  pure  gold; 
nothing  but  gold,  gold,  heaps  and  heaps  of  it.  What 
a  service  that  was!  " 

46 


McTeague 

Maria  paused,  shaking  her  head,  thinking  over 
the  vanished  splendor.  Illiterate  enough,  unimagi 
native  enough  on  all  other  subjects,  her  distorted 
wits  called  up  this  picture  with  marvellous  distinct 
ness.  It  was  plain  she  saw  the  plate  clearly.  Her 
description  was  accurate,  was  almost  eloquent. 

Did  that  wonderful  service  of  gold  plate  ever  exist 
outside  of  her  diseased  imagination?  Was  Maria 
actually  remembering  some  reality  of  a  childhood  of 
barbaric  luxury?  Were  her  parents  at  one  time  pos 
sessed  of  an  incalculable  fortune  derived  from  some 
Central  American  coffee  plantation,  a  fortune  long 
since  confiscated  by  armies  of  insurrectionists,  or 
squandered  in  the  support  of  revolutionary  govern 
ments? 

It  was  not  impossible.  Of  Maria  Macapa's  past 
prior  to  the  time  of  her  appearance  at  the  "  flat  "  ab 
solutely  nothing  could  be  learned.  She  suddenly 
appeared  from  the  unknown,  a  strange  woman  of  a 
mixed  race,  sane  on  all  subjects  but  that  of  the 
famous  service  of  gold  plate;  but  unusual,  complex, 
mysterious,  even  at  her  best. 

But  what  misery  Zerkow  endured  as  he  listened 
to  her  tale!  For  he  chose  to  believe  it,  forced  him 
self  to  believe  it,  lashed  and  harassed  by  a  pitiless 
greed  that  checked  at  no  tale  of  treasure,  however 
preposterous.  The  story  ravished  him  with  delight. 
He  was  near  someone  who  had  possessed  this 
wealth.  He  saw  someone  who  had  seen  this  pile 
of  gold.  He  seemed  near  it;  it  was  there,  some 
where  close  by,  under  his  eyes,  under  his  fingers; 
it  was  red,  gleaming,  ponderous.  He  gazed  about 
him  wildly;  nothing,  nothing  but  the  sordid  junk 

47 


McTeague 

shop  and  the  rust-corroded  tins.  What  exaspera 
tion,  what  positive  misery,  to  be  so  near  to  it  and 
yet  to  know  that  it  was  irrevocably,  irretrievably 
lost!  A  spasm  of  anguish  passed  through  him. 
He  gnawed  at  his  bloodless  lips,  at  the  hopeless 
ness  of  it,  the  rage,  the  fury  of  it. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  he  whispered;  "  let's  have  it  all 
over  again.  Polished  like  a  mirror,  hey,  and  heavy? 
Yes,  I  know,  I  know.  A  punch-bowl  worth  a  for 
tune.  Ah!  and  you  saw  it,  you  had  it  all!  " 

Maria  rose  to  go.  Zerkow  accompanied  her  to 
the  door,  urging  another  drink  upon  her. 

"  Come  again,  come  again,"  he  croaked.  "  Don't 
wait  till  you've  got  junk;  come  any  time  you  feel 
like  it,  and  tell  me  more  about  the  plate." 

He  followed  her  a  step  down  the  alley. 

"  How  much  do  you  think  it  was  worth  ?  "  lie  in 
quired,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  a  million  dollars,"  answered  Maria,  vaguely. 

When  Maria  had  gone,  Zerkow  returned  to  the 
back  room  of  the  shop,  and  stood  in  front  of  the 
alcohol  stove,  looking  down  into  his  cold  dinner, 
preoccupied,  thoughtful. 

"  A  million  dollars,"  he  muttered  in  his  rasping, 
guttural  whisper,  his  finger-tips  wandering  over  his 
thin,  cat-like  lips.  "  A  golden  service  worth  a  mil 
lion  dollars;  a  punch-bowl  worth  a  fortune;  red 
gold  plates,  heaps  and  piles.  God!  " 


IV. 


The  days  passed.  McTeague  had  finished  the  op 
eration  on  Trina's  teeth.  She  did  not  come  any 
more  to  the  "  Parlors."  Matters  had  readjusted 
themselves  a  little  between  the  two  during  the  last 
sittings.  Trina  yet  stood  upon  her  reserve,  and  Mc 
Teague  still  felt  himself  shambling  and  ungainly  in 
her  presence;  but  that  constraint  and  embarrass 
ment  that  had  followed  upon  McTeague's  blunder 
ing  declaration  broke  up  little  by  little.  In  spite  of 
themselves  they  were  gradually  resuming  the  same 
relative  positions  they  had  occupied  when  they  had 
first  met. 

But  McTeague  suffered  miserably  for  all  that. 
He  never  would  have  Trina,  he  saw  that  clearly. 
She  was  too  good  for  him ;  too  delicate,  too  refined, 
too  prettily  made  for  him,  who  was  so  coarse,  so 
enormous,  so  stupid.  She  was  for  someone  else — 
Marcus,  no  doubt — or  at  least  for  some  finer- 
grained  man.  She  should  have  gone  to  some  other 
dentist;  the  young  fellow  on  the  corner,  for  in 
stance,  the  poser,  the  rider  of  bicycles,  the  courser 
of  greyhounds.  McTeague  began  to  loathe  and  to 
envy  this  fellow.  He  spied  upon  him  going  in  and 
out  of  his  office,  and  noted  his  salmon-pink  neckties 
and  his  astonishing  waiscoats. 

One  Sunday,  a  few  days  after  Trina's  last  sitting, 
McTeague  met  Marcus  Schouler  at  his  table  in  the 

4  49 


McTeague 

car  conductors'  coffee-joint,  next  to  the  harness 
shop. 

"  What  you  got  to  do  this  afternoon,  Mac?  "  in 
quired  the  other,  as  they  ate  their  suet  pudding. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  replied  McTeague,  shaking 
his  head.  His  mouth  was  full  of  pudding.  It  made 
him  warm  to  eat,  and  little  beads  of  perspiration 
stood  across  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  He  looked  for 
ward  to  an  afternoon  passed  in  his  operating  chair 
as  usual.  On  leaving  his  "  Parlors  "  he  had  put  ten 
cents  into  his  pitcher  and  had  left  it  at  Frenna's 
to  be  filled. 

"  What  do  you  say  we  take  a  walk,  huh?  "  said 
Marcus.  "  Ah,  that's  the  thing — a  walk,  a  long 
walk,  by  damn!  It'll  be  outa  sight  -I  got  to  take 
three  or  four  of  the  dogs  out  for  exercise,  anyhow. 
Old  Grannis  thinks  they  need  ut.  We'll  walk  out  to 
the  Presidio." 

Of  late  it  had  become  the  custom  of  the  two 
friends  to  take  long  walks  from  time  to  time.  On 
holidays  and  on  those  Sunday  afternoons  when 
Marcus  was  not  absent  with  the  Sieppes  they  went 
out  together,  sometimes  to  the  park,  sometimes  to 
the  Presidio,  sometimes  even  across  the  bay.  They 
took  a  great  pleasure  in  each  other's  company,  but 
silently  and  with  reservation,  having  the  masculine 
horror  of  any  demonstration  of  friendship. 

They  walked  for  upwards  of  five  hours  that  after 
noon,  out  the  length  of  California  Street,  and  across 
the  Presidio  Reservation  to  the  Golden  Gate.  Then 
they  turned,  and,  following  the  line  of  the  shore, 
brought  up  at  the  Cliff  House.  Here  they  halted 
for  beer,  Marcus  swearing  that  his  mouth  was  as 

50 


McTeague 

dry  as  a  hay-bin.  Before  starting  on  their  walk  they 
had  gone  around  to  the  little  dog  hospital,  and  Mar 
cus  had  let  out  four  of  the  convalescents,  crazed 
with  joy  at  the  release. 

"  Look  at  that  dog,"  he  cried  to  McTeague, 
showing  him  a  finely-bred  Irish  setter.  "  That's  the 
dog  that  belonged  to  the  duck  on  the  avenue,  the 
dog  we  called  for  that  day.  I've  bought  'um.  The 
duck  thought  he  had  the  distemper,  and  just  threw 
'urn  away.  Nothun  wrong  with  'um  but  a  little 
catarrh.  Ain't  he  a  bird?  Say,  ain't  he  a  bird? 
Look  at  his  flag;  it's  perfect;  and  see  how  he  carries 
his  tail  on  a  line  with  his  back.  See  how  stiff  and 
white  his  whiskers  are.  Oh,  by  damn!  you  can't 
fool  me  on  a  dog.  That  dog's  a  winner." 

At  the  Cliff  House  the  two  sat  down  to  their  beer 
in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  billiard-room.  There  were 
but  two  players.  Somewhere  in  another  part  of  the 
building  a  mammoth  music-box  was  jangling  out  a 
quickstep.  From  outside  came  the  long,  rhythmical 
rush  of  the  surf  and  the  sonorous  barking  of  the 
seals  upon  the  seal  rocks.  The  four  dogs  curled 
themselves  down  upon  the  sanded  floor. 

"  Here's  how,"  said  Marcus,  half  emptying  'his 
glass.  "Ah-h!"  he  added,  with  a  long  breath, 
"  that's  good;  it  is,  for  a  fact." 

For  the  last  hour  of  their  walk  Marcus  had  done 
nearly  all  the  talking,  McTeague  merely  answering 
him  by  uncertain  movements  of  the  head.  For  that 
matter,  the  dentist  had  been  silent  and  preoccupied 
throughout  the  whole  afternoon.  At  length  Marcus 
noticed  it.  As  he  set  down  his  glass  with  a  bang 
he  suddenly  exclaimed: 

51 


McTeague 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  these  days,  Mac? 
You  got  a  bean  about  somethun,  hey?  Spit  ut  out." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  McTeague,  looking  about  on 
the  floor,  rolling  his  eyes;  "  nothing,  no,  no." 

"  Ah,  rats !  "  returned  the  other.  McTeague  kept 
silence.  The  two  billiard  players  departed.  The 
huge  music-box  struck  into  a  fresh  tune. 

"  Huh!  "  exclaimed  Marcus,  with  a  short  laugh, 
u  guess  you're  in  love." 

McTeague  gasped,  and  shuffled  his  enormous  feet 
under  the  table. 

"  Well,  somethun's  bitun  you,  anyhow,"  pursued 
Marcus.  "  Maybe  I  can  help  you.  We're  pals,  you 
know.  Better  tell  me  what's  up;  guess  we  can 
straighten  ut  out.  Ah,  go  on;  spit  ut  out." 

The  situation  was  abominable.  McTeague  could 
not  rise  to  it.  Marcus  was  his  best  friend,  his  only 
friend.  They  were  "  pals  "  and  McTeague  was  very 
fond  of  him.  Yet  they  were  both  in  love,  presum 
ably,  with  the  same  girl,  and  now  Marcus  would 
try  and  force  the  secret  out  of  him;  would  rush 
blindly  at  the  rock  upon  which  the  two  must  split, 
stirred  by  the  very  best  of  motives,  wishing  only 
to  be  of  service.  Besides  this,  there  was  nobody  to 
whom  McTeague  would  have  better  preferred  to 
tell  his  troubles  than  to  Marcus,  and  yet  about  this 
trouble,  the  greatest  trouble  of  his  life,  he  must 
keep  silent;  must  refrain  from  speaking  of  it  to 
Marcus  above  everybody. 

McTeague  began  dimly  to  feel  that  life  was  too 
mudh  for  him.  How  had  it  all  come  about?  A 
month  ago  he  was  perfectly  content;  he  was  calm 
and  peaceful,  taking  his  little  pleasures  as  he  found 

52 


McTeague 

them.  His  life  had  shaped  itself;  was,  no  doubt,  to 
continue  always  along  these  same  lines.  A  woman 
had  entered  his  small  world  and  instantly  there  was 
discord.  The  disturbing  element  had  appeared. 
Wherever  the  woman  had  put  her  foot  a  score  of 
distressing  complications  had  sprung  up,  like  the 
sudden  growth  of  strange  and  puzzling  flowers. 

"  Say,  Mac,  go  on;  let's  have  ut  straight,"  urged 
Marcus,  leaning  towards  him.  "  Has  any  duck  been 
doing  you  dirt? "  he  cried,  his  face  crimson  on  the 
instant. 

"  No,"  said  McTeague,  helplessly. 

"  Come  along,  old  man,"  persisted  Marcus;  "  let's 
have  ut.  What  is  the  row?  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  help 
you." 

It  was  more  than  McTeague  could  bear.  The  sit 
uation  had  got  beyond  him.  Stupidly  he  spoke,  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  head  rolled  forward. 

"  It's — it's  Miss  Sieppe,"  he  said. 

"  Trina,  my  cousin?  How  do  you  mean?"  in 
quired  Marcus  sharply. 

"  I — I — I  don'  know,"  stammered  McTeague, 
hopelessly  confounded. 

"  You  mean,"  cried  Marcus,  suddenly  enlight 
ened,  "  that  you  are — that  you,  too." 

McTeague  stirred  in  his  chair,  looking  at  the 
walls  of  the  room,  avoiding  the  other's  glance.  He 
nodded  his  head,  then  suddenly  broke  out: 

"  I  can't  help  it.     It  ain't  my  fault,  is  it?  " 

Marcus  was  struck  dumb;  he  dropped  back  in  his 
chair  breathless.  Suddenly  McTeague  found  his 
tongue. 

"  I  tell  you,  Mark,  I  can't  help  it.     I  don't  know 

53 


McTeague 

how  it  happened.  It  came  on  so  slow  that  I  was, 
that — that — that  it  was  done  before  I  knew  it,  be 
fore  I  could  help  myself.  I  know  we're  pals,  us 
two,  and  I  knew  how — how  you  and  Miss  Sieppe 
were.  I  know  now,  I  knew  then;  but  that  wouldn't 
have  made  any  difference.  Before  I  knew  it — it — 
it — there  I  was.  I  can't  help  it.  I  wouldn't  'a'  had 
ut  happen  for  anything1,  if  I  could  'a'  stopped  it, 
but  I  don'  know,  it's  something  that's  just  stronger 
than  you  are,  that's  all.  She  came  there — Miss 
Sieppe  came  to  the  parlors  there  three  or  four  times 
a  week,  and  she  was  the  first  girl  I  had  ever  known, 
— and  you  don'  know !  Why,  I  was  so  close  to  her 
I  touched  her  face  every  minute,  and  her  mouth, 
and  smelt  her  hair  and  her  breath — oh,  you  don't 
know  anything  about  it.  I  can't  give  you  any  idea. 
I  don'  know  exactly  myself;  I  only  know  how  I'm 
fixed.  I — I — it's  been  done;  it's  too  late,  there's  no 
going  back.  Why,  I  can't  think  of  anything  else 
night  and  day.  It's  everything.  It's — it's — oh,  it's 
everything!  I — I — why,  Mark,  it's  everything — I 
can't  explain."  He  made  a  helpless  movement  with 
both  hands. 

Never  had  McTeague  been  so  excited ;  never  had 
he  made  so  long  a  speech.  His  arms  moved  in 
fierce,  uncertain  gestures,  his  face  flushed,  his  enor 
mous  jaws  shut  together  with  a  sharp  click  at  every 
pause.  It  was  like  some  colossal  brute  trapped  in 
a  delicate,  invisible  mesh,  raging,  exasperated, 
powerless  to  extricate  himself. 

Marcus  Schouler  said  nothing.  There  was  a  long 
silence.  Marcus  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window 
and  stood  looking  out,  but  seeing  nothing.  "  Well, 

54 


McTeague 

who  would  have  thought  cf  this?"  he  muttered 
under  his  breath.  Here  was  a  fix.  Marcus  cared  for 
Trina.  There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  about  that. 
He  looked  forward  eagerly  to  the  Sunday  afternoon 
excursions.  He  liked  to  be  with  Trina.  He,  too, 
feit  the  charm  of  the  little  girl — the  charm  of  the 
small,  pale  forehead;  the  little  chin  thrust  out  as  if 
in  confidence  and  innocence;  the  heavy,  odorous 
crown  of  black  hair.  He  liked  her  immensely.  Some 
day  he  would  speak;  he  would  ask  her  to  marry 
him.  Marcus  put  off  this  matter  of  marriage  to  some 
future  period;  it  would  be  some  time — a  year,  per 
haps,  or  two.  The  thing  did  not  take  definite  shape 
in  his  mind.  Marcus  "  kept  company  "  with  his 
cousin  Trina,  but  he  knew  plenty  of  other  girls. 
For  the  matter  of  that,  he  liked  all  girls  pretty  well. 
Just  now  the  singleness  and  strength  of  McTeague's 
passion  startled  him.  McTeague  would  marry  Trina 
that  very  afternoon  if  she  would  have  him;  but 
would  he — Marcus?  No,  he  would  not;  if  it  came 
to  that,  no,  he  would  not.  Yet  he  knew  he  liked 
Trina.  He  could  say — yes,  he  could  say — he  loved 
her.  She  was  his  "  girl."  The  Sieppes  acknowl 
edged  him  as  Trina's  "  young  man."  Marcus  came 
back  to  the  table  and  sat  down  sideways  upon  it. 

"  Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it,  Mac  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  I  don'  know,"  answered  McTeague,  in  great 
distress.  "  I  don'  want  anything  to — to  come  be 
tween  us,  Mark." 

"Well,  nothun  will,  you  bet!"  vociferated  the 
other.  "  No,  sir;  you  bet  not,  Mac." 

Marcus  was  thinking  hard.     He  could  see  very 

55 


McTeague 

clearly  that  McTeague  loved  Trina  more  than  he 
•did;  that  in  some  strange  way  this  huge,  brutal  fel 
low  was  capable  of  a  greater  passion  than  himself, 
who  was  twice  as  clever.  Suddenly  Marcus  jumped 
impetuously  to  a  resolution. 

"  Well,  say,  Mac,"  he  cried,  striking  the  table  with 
his  fist,  "  go  ahead.  I  guess  you — you  want  her 
pretty  bad.  I'll  pull  out;  yes,  I  will.  I'll  give  her 
up  to  you,  old  man." 

The  sense  of  his  own  magnanimity  all  at  once 
overcame  Marcus.  He  saw  himself  as  another  man, 
very  noble,  self-sacrificing;  he  stood  apart  and 
watched  this  second  self  with  boundless  admiration 
ind  with  infinite  pity.  He  was  so  good,  so  mag 
nificent,  so  heroic,  that  he  almost  sobbed.  Marcus 
made  a  sweeping  gesture  of  resignation,  throwing 
out  both  his  arms,  crying: 

"  Mac,  I'll  give  her  up  to  you.  I  won't  stand  be 
tween  you."  There  were  actually  tears  in  Marcus's 
eyes  as  he  spoke.  There  \vas  no  doubt  he  thought 
himself  sincere.  At  that  moment  he  almost  believed 
he  loved  Trina  conscientiously,  that  he  was  sacrific 
ing  himself  for  the  sake  of  his  friend.  The  two  stood 
up  and  faced  each  other,  gripping  hands.  It  was 
a  great  moment;  even  McTeague  felt  the  drama  of 
it.  What  a  fine  thing  was  this  friendship  between 
men!  The  dentist  treats  his  friend  for  an  ulcerated 
tooth  and  refuses  payment;  the  friend  reciprocates 
by  giving  up  his  girl.  This  was  nobility.  Their 
mutual  affection  and  esteem  suddenly  increased 
enormously.  It  was  Damon  and  Pythias;  it  was 
David  and  Jonathan;  nothing  could  ever  estrange 
them.  Now  it  was  for  life  or  death. 

56 


McTeague 

"  I'm  much  obliged,"  murmured  McTeague.  He 
could  think  of  nothing  better  to  say.  "  I'm  much 
obliged,"  he  repeated;  "  much  obliged,  Mark." 

"  That's  all  right,  that's  all  right,"  returned  Mar 
cus  Schouler,  bravely,  and  it  occurred  to  him  to 
add,  "  You'll  be  happy  together.  Tell  her  for  me — 

tell  her — tell  her "     Marcus  could  not  go  on. 

He  wrung  the  dentist's  hand  silently. 

It  had  not  appeared  to  either  of  them  that  Trina 
might  refuse  McTeague.  McTeague's  spirits  rose 
at  once.  In  Marcus's  withdrawal  he  fancied  he  saw 
an  end  to  all  his  difficulties.  Everything  would 
come  right,  after  all.  The  strained,  exalted  state  of 
Marcus's  nerves  ended  by  putting  him  into  fine 
humor  as  well.  His  grief  suddenly  changed  to  an 
excess  of  gaiety.  The  afternoon  was  a  success. 
They  slapped  each  other  on  the  back  with  great 
blows  of  the  open  palms,  and  they  drank  each 
other's  health  in  a  third  round  of  beer. 

Ten  minutes  after  his  renunciation  of  Trina 
Sieppe,  Marcus  astounded  McTeague  with  a  tre 
mendous  feat. 

'  "  Looka  here,  Mac.  I  know  somethun  you  can't 
do.  I'll  bet  you  two  bits  I'll  stump  you/'  They 
each  put  a  quarter  on  the  table.  "  Now  watch  me," 
cried  Marcus.  He  caught  up  a  billiard  ball  from  the 
rack,  poised  it  a  moment  in  front  of  his  face,  then 
with  a  sudden,  horrifying  distension  of  his  jaws 
crammed  it  into  his  mouth,  and  shut  his  lips  over  it. 

For  an  instant  McTeague  was  stupefied,  his  eyes 
bulging.  Then  an  enormous  laugh  shook  him.  He 
roared  and  shouted,  swaying  in  his  chair,  slapping 
his  knee.  What  a  josher  was  this  Marcus! 

57 


McTeague 

Sure,  you  never  could  tell  what  he  would  do  next. 
Marcus  slipped  the  ball  out,  wiped  it  on  the  table 
cloth,  and  passed  it  to  McTeague. 

"  Now  let's  see  you  do  it." 

McTeague  fell  suddenly  grave.  The  matter  was 
serious.  He  parted  his  thick  mustaches  and  opened 
his  enormous  jaws  like  an  anaconda.  The  ball  dis 
appeared  inside  his  mouth.  Marcus  applauded  vo 
ciferously,  shouting,  "  Good  work!"  McTeague 
reached  for  the  money  and  put  it  in  his  vest  pocket, 
nodding  his  head  with  a  knowing  air. 

Then  suddenly  his  face  grew  purple,  his  jaws 
moved  convulsively,  he  pawed  at  his  cheeks  with 
both  hands.  The  billiard  ball  had  slipped  into  his 
mouth  easily  enough;  now,  however,  he  could  not 
get  it  out  again. 

It  was  terrible.  The  dentist  rose  to  his  feet, 
stumbling  about  among  the  dogs,  his  face  working, 
his  eyes  starting.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not 
stretch  his  jaws  wide  enough  to  slip  the  ball  out. 
Marcus  lost  his  wits,  swearing  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  McTeague  sweated  with  terror;  inarticulate 
sounds  came  from  his  crammed  mouth;  he  waved 
his  arms  wildly;  all  the  four  dogs  caught  the  ex 
citement  and  began  to  bark.  A  waiter  rushed  in, 
the  two  billiard  players  returned,  a  little  crowd 
formed.  There  was  a  veritable  scene. 

All  at  once  the  ball  slipped  out  of  McTeague's 
jaws  as  easily  as  it  had  gone  in.  What  a  relief!  He 
dropped  into  a  chair,  wiping  his  forehead,  gasping 
for  breath. 

On  the  strength  of  the  occasion  Marcus  Schouler 
invited  the  entire  group  to  drink  with  him. 

58 


McTeague 

By  the  time  the  affair  was  over  and  the  group 
dispersed  it  was  after  five.  Marcus  and  McTeague 
decided  they  would  ride  home  on  the  cars.  But 
they  soon  found  this  impossible.  The  dogs  would 
not  follow.  Only  Alexander,  Marcus's  new  setter, 
kept  his  place  at  the  rear  of  the  car.  The  other 
three  lost  their  senses  immediately,  running  wildly 
about  the  streets  with  their  heads  in  the  air,  or  sud 
denly  starting  off  at  a  furious  gallop  directly  away 
from  the  car.  Marcus  whistled  and  shouted  and 
lathered  with  rage  in  vain.  The  two  friends  were 
obliged  to  walk.  When  they  finally  reached  Polk 
Street,  Marcus  shut  up  the  three  dogs  in  the  hos 
pital.  Alexander  he  brought  back  to  the  flat  with 
him. 

There  was  a  minute  back  yard  in  the  rear,  where 
Marcus  had  made  a  kennel  for  Alexander  out  of  an 
old  water  barrel.  Before  he  thought  of  his  own 
supper  Marcus  put  Alexander  to  bed  and  fed  him 
a  couple  of  dog  biscuits.  McTeague  had  followed 
him  to  the  yard  to  keep  him  company.  Alexander 
settled  to  his  supper  at  once,  chewing  vigorously 
at  the  biscuit,  his  head  on  one  side. 

"  What  you  going  to  do  about  this — about  that — 
about — about  my  cousin  now,  Mac?  "  inquired  Mar 
cus. 

McTeague  shook  his  head  helplessly.  It  was 
dark  by  now  and  cold.  The  little  back  yard  was 
grimy  and  full  of  odors.  McTeague  was  tired  with 
their  long  walk.  All  his  uneasiness  about  his  af 
fair  with  Trina  had  returned.  No,  surely  she  was 
not  for  him.  Marcus  or  some  other  man  would 
win  her  in  the  end.  What  could  she  ever  see  to 

*      59 


McTtague 

desire  in  him — in  him,  a  clumsy  giant,  with  hands 
like  wooden  mallets?  She  had  told  him  once  that 
she  would  not  marry  him.  Was  that  not  final? 

"  I  don'  know  what  to  do,  Mark,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  you  must  make  up  to  her  now,"  answered 
Marcus.  "  Go  and  call  on  her." 

McTeague  started.  He  had  not  thought  of  call 
ing  on  her.  The  idea  frightened  him  a  little. 

"Of  course,"  persisted  Marcus,  "that's  the  proper 
caper.  What  did  you  expect?  Did  you  think  yon 
was  never  going  to  see  her  again?" 

"  I  don'  know,  I  don'  know,"  responded  the  den 
tist,  looking  stupidly  at  the  dog. 

"  You  know  where  they  live,"  continued  Marcus 
Schouler.  "  Over  at  B  Street  station,  across  the 
bay.  I'll  take  you  over  there  whenever  you  want  to 
go.  I  tell  you  what,  we'll  go  over  there  Washing 
ton's  Birthday.  That's  this  next  Wednesday;  sure, 
they'll  be  glad  to  see  you."  It  was  good  of  Marcus. 
All  at  once  McTeague  rose  to  an  appreciation  of 
what  his  friend  was  doing  for  him.  He  stammered : 

"  Say,  Mark — you're — you're  all  right,  anyhow." 

"  Why,  pshaw!  "  said  Marcus.  "  That's  all  right, 
old  man.  I'd  like  to  see  you  two  fixed,  that's  all. 
We'll  go  over  Wednesday,  sure." 

They  turned  back  to  the  house.  Alexander  left 
off  eating  and  watched  them  go  away,  first  with  one 
eye,  then  with  the  other.  But  he  was  too  self- 
respecting  to  whimper.  However,  by  the  time  the 
two  friends  had  reached  the  second  landing  on  the 
back  stairs  a  terrible  commotion  was  under  way  in 
the  little  yard.  They  rushed  to  an  open  window 
at  the  end  of  the  hall  and  looked  down. 

60 


McTeague 

A  thin  board  fence  separated  the  flat's  back 
yard  from  that  used  by  the  branch  post-office.  In 
the  latter  place  lived  a  collie  dog.  He  and  Alexan 
der  had  smelt  each  other  out,  blowing  through  the 
cracks  of  the  fence  at  each  other.  Suddenly  the 
quarrel  had  exploded  on  either  side  of  the  fence. 
The  dogs  raged  at  each  other,  snarling  and  barking, 
frantic  with  hate.  Their  teeth  gleamed.  They  tore 
at  the  fence  with  their  front  paws.  They  rilled  the 
whole  night  with  their  clamor. 

"  By  damn!  "  cried  Marcus,  "  they  don't  love  each 
other.  Just  listen;  wouldn't  that  make  a  fight  if  the 
two  got  together?  Have  to  try  it  some  day." 


V. 


Wednesday  morning,  Washington's  Birthday, 
McTeague  rose  very  early  and  shaved  himself.  Be 
sides  the  six  mournful  concertina  airs,  the  dentist 
knew  one  song.  Whenever  he  shaved,  he  sung  this 
song;  never  at  any  other  time.  His  voice  was  a 
bellowing  roar,  enoug'h  to  make  the  window  sashes 
rattle.  Just  now  he  woke  up  all  the  lodgers  in  his 
hall  with  it.  It  was  a  lamentable  wail : 

"  No  one  to  love,  none  to  caress, 
Left  all  alone  in  this  world's  wilderness." 

As  he  paused  to  strop  his  razor,  Marcus  came 
into  his  room,  half-dressed,  a  startling  phantom  in 
red  flannels. 

Marcus  often  ran  back  and  forth  between  his 
room  and  the  dentist's  "  Parlors  "  in  all  sorts  of  un 
dress.  Old  Miss  Baker  had  seen  him  thus  several 
times  through  her  half-open  door,  as  she  sat  in  her 
room  listening  and  waiting.  The  old  dressmaker 
was  shocked  out  of  all  expression.  She  was  out 
raged,  offended,  pursing  her  lips,  putting  up  her 
head.  She  talked  of  complaining  to  the  landlady. 
"  And  Mr.  Grannis  right  next  door,  too.  You  can 
understand  how  trying  it  is  for  both  of  us/'  She 
would  come  out  in  the  hall  after  one  of  these  appari 
tions,  her  little  false  curls  shaking,  talking  loud  and 
shrill  to  any  one  in  reach  of  her  voice. 

62 


McTcague 

"  Well,"  Marcus  would  shout,  "  shut  your  door, 
then,  if  you  don't  want  to  see.  'Look  out,  now,  here 
I  come  again.  Not  even  a  porous  plaster  on  me 
this  time." 

On  this  Wednesday  morning  Marcus  called  Me* 
Teague  out  into  the  hall,  to  the  head  of  the  stairs 
that  led  down  to  the  street  door. 

"  Come  and  listen  to  Maria,  Mac,"  said  he. 

Maria  sat  on  the  next  to  the  lowest  step,  her  chin 
propped  by  her  two  fists.  The  red-headed  Polish 
Jew,  the  ragman  Zerkow,  stood  in  the  doonvay. 
He  was  talking  eagerly. 

"  Now,  just  once  more,  Maria,"  he  was  saying. 
"  Tell  it  to  us  just  once  more."  Maria's  voice  came 
up  the  stairway  in  a  monotone.  Marcus  and  Mc- 
Teague  caught  a  phrase  from  time  to  time. 

"  There  were  more  than  a  hundred  pieces,  and 
every  one  of  them  gold — just  that  punch-bowl 
was  worth  a  fortune — thick,  fat,  red  gold." 

"  Get  onto  to  that,  will  you?  "  observed  Marcus. 
"The  old  skin  has  got  her  started  on  the  plate. 
Ain't  they  a  pair  for  you?  " 

"  And  it  rang  like  bells,  didn't  it?  "  prompted  Zer- 
kow. 

"  Sweeter'n  church  bells,  and  clearer." 

"  Ah,  sweeter'n  bells.  Wasn't  that  punch-bowl 
awful  heavy?  " 

"  All  you  could  do  to  lift  it." 

"  I  know.  Oh,  I  know,"  answered  Zerkow,  claw 
ing  at  his  lips.  *  Waere  did  it  all  go  to?  Where 
did  it  go?" 

Maria  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  gone,  anyhow." 

63 


McTeague 

"Ah,  gone,  gone!  Think  of  it!  The  punch-bowl 
gone,  and  the  engraved  ladle,  and  the  plates  and 
goblets.  What  a  sight  it  must  have  been  all  heaped 
together!" 

"  It  was  a  wonderful  sight." 

"  Yes,  wonderful;  it  must  have  been." 

On  the  lower  steps  of  that  cheap  flat,  the  Mex 
ican  woman  and  the  red-haired  Polish  Jew  mused 
long  over  that  vanished,  half-mythical  gold  plate. 

Marcus  and  the  dentist  spent  Washington's 
Birthday  across  the  bay.  The  journey  over  was  one 
long  agony  to  McTeague.  He  shook  with  a  form 
less,  uncertain  dread;  a  dozen  times  he  would  have 
turned  back  had  not  Marcus  been  with  him.  The 
stolid  giant  was  as  nervous  as  a  schoolboy.  He 
fancied  that  'his  call  upon  Miss  Sieppe  was  an  out 
rageous  affront.  She  would  freeze  him  with  a  stare; 
he  would  be  shown  the  door,  would  be  ejected,  dis 
graced. 

As  they  got  off  the  local  train  at  B  Street  sta 
tion  they  suddenly  collided  with  the  whole  tribe  of 
Sieppes — the  mother,  father,  three  children,  and 
Trina — equipped  for  one  of  their  eternal  picnics. 
They  were  to  go  to  Schuetzen  Park,  within  walk 
ing  distance  of  the  station.  They  were  grouped 
about  four  lunch  baskets.  One  of  the  children,  a 
little  boy,  held  a  black  greyhound  by  a  rope  around 
its  neck.  Trina  wore  a  blue  cloth  skirt,  a  striped 
shirt  waist,  and  a  white  sailor;  about  her  round, 
waist  was  a  belt  of  imitation  alligator  skin. 

At  once  Mrs.  Sieppe  began  to  talk  to  Marcus.  He 
had  written  of  their  coming,  but  the  picnic  had  been 
decided  upon  after  the  arrival  .of  his  letter.  Mrs. 

64 


McTeague 

Sieppe  explained  this  to  him.  She  was  an  immense 
old  lady  with  a  pink  face  and  wonderful  hair,  abso 
lutely  white.  The  Sieppes  were  a  German-Swiss 
family. 

"  We  go  to  der  park,  Schuetzen  Park,  mit  alle 
dem  childern,  a  little  eggs-kursion,  eh  not  soh?  We 
breathe  der  freshes  air,  a  celubration,  a  pignic  bei 
der  seashore  on.  Ach,  dot  wull  be  soh  gay,  ah?" 

"  You  bet  it  will.  It'll  be  outa  sight,"  cried 
Marcus,  enthusiastic  in  an  instant.  "  This  is  m' 
friend  Doctor  McTeague  I  wrote  you  about,  Mrs. 
Si'eppe." 

"  Ach,  der  doktor,"  cried  Mrs.  Sieppe. 

McTeague  was  presented,  shaking  hands  gravely 
as  Marcus  shouldered  him  from  one  to  the  other. 

Mr.  Sieppe  was  a  little  man  of  a  military  aspect, 
full  of  importance,  taking  himself  very  seriously. 
He  was  a  member  of  a  rifle  team.  Over  his  shoul 
der  was  slung  a  Springfield  rifle,  while  his  breast 
was  decorated  by  five  bronze  medals. 

Trina  was  delighted.  McTeague  was  dum- 
founded.  She  appeared  positively  glad  to  see  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Doctor  McTeague,"  she  said, 
smiling  at  him  and  shaking  his  hand.  "  It's  nice 
to  see  you  again.  Look,  see  how  fine  my  filling  is." 
She  lifted  a  corner  of  her  lip  and  showed  him  the 
clumsy  gold  bridge. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Sieppe  toiled  and  perspired. 
Upon  him  devolved  the  responsibility  of  the  excur 
sion.  He  seemed  to  consider  it  a  matter  of  vast  im 
portance,  a  veritable  expedition. 

"  Owgooste!  "  he  shouted  to  the  little  boy  with 
the  black  greyhound.  "  you  will  der  hound  und 
5  65 


McTeague 

basket  number  three  carry.  Der  tervins,"  he  added, 
calling  to  the  two  smallest  boys,  who  were  dressed 
exactly  alike,  "will  releef  one  umidder  mit  der 
camp-stuhl  und  basket  number  four.  Dat  is  com 
prehend,  hay?  When  we  make  der  start,  you  chil- 
dern  will  in  der  advance  march.  Dat  Is  your  orders. 
But  we  do  not  start,"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly;  "  we 
re-main.  Ach  Gott,  Selina,  who  does  not  arrive." 

Selina,  it  appeared,  was  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Sieppe's. 
They  were  on  the  point  of  starting  without  her, 
when  she  suddenly  arrived,  very  much  out  of 
breath.  She  was  a  slender,  unhealthy  looking  girl, 
who  overworked  herself  giving  lessons  in  hand- 
painting  at  twenty-five  cents  an  hour.  McTeague 
was  presented.  They  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  fill 
ing  the  little  station-house  with  a  confusion  of 
tongues. 

"  Attention !  "  cried  Mr.  Sieppe,  his  gold-headed 
cane  in  one  hand,  his  Springfield  in  the  other.  "  At 
tention!  We  depart."  The  four  little  boys  moved 
off  ahead;  the  greyhound  suddenly  began  to  bark, 
and  tug  at  his  leash.  The  others  picked  up  their 
bundles. 

"Vorwarts!"  shouted  Mr.  Sieppe,  waving  his 
rifle  and  assuming  the  attitude  of  a  lieutenant  of  in 
fantry  leading  a  charge.  The  party  set  off  down 
the  railroad  track. 

Mrs.  Sieppe  walked  with  her  husband,  who  con 
stantly  left  her  side  to  shout  an  order  up  and  down 
the  line.  Marcus  followed  with  Selina.  McTeague 
found  himself  with  Trina  at  the  end  of  the  proces 
sion. 

"  We  go  off  on  these  picnics  almost  every  week,** 

66 


McTeague 

said  Trina,  by  way  of  a  beginning,  "  and  almost 
every  holiday,  too.    It  is  a  custom." 

"  Yes,  yes,  a  custom,"  answered  McTeague,  nod 
ding;  "  a  custom — that's  the  word." 

"  Don't  you  think  picnics  are  fine  fun,  Doctor 
McTeague? "  she  continued.  "  You  take  your 
lunch;  you  leave  the  dirty  city  all  day;  you  race 
about  in  the  open  air,  and  when  lunchtime  comes,, 
oh,  aren't  you  hungry?  And  the  woods  and  the 
grass  smell  so  fine!  " 

"  I  don'  know,  Miss  Sieppe,"  he  answered,  keep 
ing  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  between  the  rails. 
"  I  never  went  on  a  picnic." 

"  Never  went  on  a  picnic?  "  she  cried,  astonished. 
"  Oh,  you'll  see  what  fun  we'll  have.  In  the  morn 
ing  father  and  the  children  dig  clams  in  the  mud  by 
the  shore,  an'  we  bake  them,  and — oh,  there's  thou 
sands  of  things  to  do." 

"  Once  I  went  sailing  on  the  bay,"  said  Mc 
Teague.  "  It  was  in  a  tugboat;  we  fished  off  the 
heads.  I  caught  three  codfishes." 

"  I'm  afraid  to  go  out  on  the  bay,"  answered 
Trina,  shaking  her  head,  "  sailboats  tip  over  so  easy. 
A  cousin  of  mine,  Selina's  brother,  was  drowned  one 
Decoration  Day.  They  never  found  his  body.  Can 
you  swim,  Doctor  McTeague?  " 

"  I  used  to  at  the  mine." 

"  At  the  mine?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,  Marcus  told 
me  you  were  a  miner  once." 

"  I  was  a  car-boy;  all  the  car-boys  used  to  swim 
in  the  reservoir  by  the  ditch  every  Thursday  even 
ing.      One  of  them  was  bit  by  a  rattlesnake  once 
while  he  was  dressing.      He  was  a   Frenchman, 
67 


McTeague 

named  Andrew.  He  swelled  up  and  began  to 
twitch." 

"  Oh,  how  I  hate  snakes!  They're  so  crawly  and 
graceful — but,  just  the  same,  I  like  to  watch  them. 
You  know  that  drug  store  over  in  town  that  has  a 
showcase  full  of  live  ones?  " 

"  We  killed  the  rattler  with  a  cart  whip." 

"  How  far  do  you  think  you  could  swim?  Did  you 
ever  try?  D'you  think  you  could  swim  a  mile?  " 

"  A  mile?  I  don't  know.  I  never  tried.  I  guess 
I  could." 

"  I  can  swim  a  little.  Sometimes  we  all  go  out 
to  the  Crystal  Baths." 

"  The  Crystal  Baths,  huh?  Can  you  swim  across 
the  tank?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  swim  all  right  as  long  as  papa  holds 
my  chin  up.  Soon  as  he  takes  his  hand  away,  down 
I  go.  Don't  you  hate  to  get  water  in  your  ears?  " 

"  Bathing's  good  for  you." 

"  If  the  water's  too  warm,  it  isn't.  It  weakens 
you." 

Mr.  Sieppe  came  running  down  the  tracks,  wav 
ing  his  cane. 

"  To  one  side,"  he  shouted,  motioning  them  off 
the  track;  "  der  drain  gomes."  A  local  passenger 
train  was  just  passing  B  Street  station,  some  quarter 
of  a  mile  behind  them.  The  party  stood  to  one  side 
to  let  it  pass.  Marcus  put  a  nickel  and  two  crossed 
pins  upon  the  rail,  and  waved  his  hat  to  the  passen 
gers  as  the  train  roared  past.  The  children  snouted 
shrilly.  When  the  train  was  gone,  they  all  rushed 
to  see  the  nickel  and  the  crossed  pins.  The  nickel 
had  been  jolted  off,  but  the  pins  had  been  flattened 

68 


McTeague 

out  so  that  they  bore  a  faint  resemblance  to  opened 
scissors.  A  great  contention  arose  among  the  chil 
dren  for  the  possession  of  these  "  scissors."  Mr. 
Sieppe  was  obliged  to  intervene.  He  reflected 
gravely.  It  was  a  matter  of  tremendous  moment. 
The  whole  party  halted,  awaiting  his  decision. 

"  Attend  now,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  "  It  will 
not  be  soh  soon.  At  der  end  of  der  day,  ven  we 
shall  have  home  gecommen,  den  wull  it  pe  adjudge, 
eh?  A  reward  of  merit  to  him  who  der  bes'  pehaves. 
It  is  an  order.  Vorwarts!  " 

"  That  was  a  Sacramento  train,"  said  Marcus  to 
Selina  as  they  started  off;  "  it  was,  for  a  fact." 

"  I  know  a  girl  in  Sacramento,"  Trina  told  Mc 
Teague.  "  She's  forewoman  in  a  glove  store,  and 
she's  got  consumption." 

"  I  was  in  Sacramento  once,"  observed  Mc 
Teague,  "  nearly  eight  years  ago." 

"  Is  it  a  nice  place — as  nice  as  San  Francisco?  " 

"  It's  hot.     I  practised  there  for  a  while." 

"  I  like  San  Francisco,"  said  Trina,  looking 
across  the  bay  to  where  the  city  piled  itself  upon  its 
hills. 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  McTeague.  "  Do  you  like  it 
better  than  living  over  here?  " 

"  Oh,  sure,  I  wish  we  lived  in  the  city.  If  you 
want  to  go  across  for  anything  it  takes  up  the  whole 
day." 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  whole  day — almost." 

"  Do  you  know  many  people  in  the  city?  Do  you 
know  anybody  named  Oelbermann?  That's  my 
uncle.  He  ha~s  a  wholesale  toy  store  in  the  Mission. 
They  say  he's  awful  rich." 


McTcague 

"  No,  I  don'  know  him." 

"  His  stepdaughter  wants  to  be  a  nun.  Just 
fancy!  And  Mr.  Oelbermann  won't  have  it.  He 
says  it  would  be  just  like  burying  his  child.  Yes, 
she  wants  to  enter  the  convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
Are  you  a  Catholic,  Doctor  McTeague?  " 

"No.    No,  I " 

"  Papa  is  a  Catholic.  He  goes  to  Mass  on  the 
feast  days  once  in  a  while.  But  mamma's  Lu 
theran." 

"  The  Catholics  are  trying  to  get  control  of  the 
schools,"  observed  McTeague,  suddenly  remember 
ing  one  of  Marcus's  political  tirades. 

"  That's  what  cousin  Mark  says.  We  are  going  to 
send  the  twins  to  the  kindergarten  next  month." 

"  What's  the  kindergarten?  " 

"  Oh,  they  teach  them  to  make  things  out  of 
straw  and  toothpicks — kind  of  a  play  place  to  keep 
them  off  the  street." 

"  There's  one  up  on  Sacramento  Street,  not  far 
from  Polk  Street.  I  saw  the  sign." 

"  I  know  where.  Why,  Selina  used  to  play  the 
piano  there." 

"  Does  she  play  the  piano?  " 

"  Oh,  you  ought  to  hear  her.  She  plays  fine. 
Selina's  very  accomplished.  She  paints,  too." 

"  I  can  play  on  the  concertina." 

"  Oh,  can  you?  I  wish  you'd  brought  it  along. 
Next  time  you  will.  I  hope  you'll  come  often  on 
our  picnics.  You'*ll  see  what  fun  we'll  have." 

"  Fine  day  for  a  picnic,  ain't  it?  There  ain't  a 
cloud." 

"  That's  so,"  exclaimed  Trina,  looking  up,  "  not 
70 


McTcague 

a  single  cloud  Oh,  yes;  there  is  one,  just  over  Tale- 
graph  Hill." 

"  That's  smoke," 

"  No,  it's  a  cloud.     Smoke  isn't  white  that  way." 

"  'Tis  a  cloud." 

"  I  knew  I  was  right  I  never  say  a  thing  unless 
I'm  pretty  sure." 

"  It  looks  like  a  dog's  head." 

"  Don't  it?    Isn't  Marcus  fond  of  dogs?  " 

"  He  got  a  new  dog  last  week — a  setter." 

"Did  he?" 

"Yes.  He  and  I  took  a  lot  of  dogs  from  his 
hospital  out  for  a  walk  to  the  Cliff  House  last  Sun 
day,  but  we  had  to  walk  all  the  way  home,  because 
they  wouldn't  follow.  You've  been  out  to  the  Cliff 
House?" 

"  Not  for  a  long  time.  We  had  a  picnic  there  one 
Fourth  of  July,  but  it  rained.  Don't  you  love  the 
ocean?" 

"  Yes— yes,  I  like  it  pretty  well." 

"  Oh,  I'd  like  to  go  off  in  one  of  those  big  sailing 
ships.  Just  away,  and  away,  and  away,  anywhere. 
They're  different  from  a  little  yacht.  I'd  love  to 
travel." 

"  Sure;  so  would  I." 

"  Papa  and  mamma  came  over  in  a  sailing  ship. 
They  were  twenty-one  days.  Mamma's  uncle  used 
to  be  a  sailor.  He  was  captain  of  a  steamer  on  Lake 
Geneva,  in  Switzerland." 

"Halt!"  shouted  Mr.  Sieppe,  brandishing  his 
rifle.  They  had  arrived  at  the  gates  of  the  park. 
All  at  once  McTeague  turned  cold.  He  had  only  a 
quarter  in  his  pocket.  What  was  he  expected  to  do 


McTeague 

— pay  for  the  whole  party,  or  for  Trina  and  himself, 
or  merely  buy  his  own  ticket?  And  even  in  this 
latter  case  would  a  quarter  be  enough?  He  lost  his 
wits,  rolling  his  eyes  helplessly.  Then  it  occurred 
to  him  to  feign  a  great  abstraction,  pretending  not 
to  know  that  the  time  was  come  to  pay.  He  looked 
intently  up  and  down  the  tracks;  perhaps  a  train 
was  coming.  "  Here  we  are,"  cried  Trina,  as  they 
came  up  to  the  rest  of  the  party,  crowded  about  the 
entrance.  "  Yes,  yes,"  observed  McTeague,  his 
head  in  the  air. 

"  Gi'  me  four  bits,  Mac,"  said  Marcus,  coming  up. 
"  Here's  where  we  shell  out." 

"  I — I — I  only  got  a  quarter,"  mumbled  the  den 
tist,  miserably.  He  felt  that  he  had  ruined  himself 
forever  with  Trina.  What  was  the  use  of  trying  to 
win  her?  Destiny  was  against  him.  "  I  only  got 
a  quarter,"  he  stammered.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
adding  that  he  would  not  go  in  the  park.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  only  alternative. 

"  Oh,  all  right!  "  said  Marcus,  easily.  "  I'll  pay 
for  you,  and  you  can  square  with  me  when  we  go 
home." 

They  filed  into  the  park,  Mr.  Sieppe  counting 
them  off  as  they  entered. 

"  Ah,"  said  Trina,  with  a  long  breath,  as  she  and 
McTeague  pushed  through  the  wicket,  "  here  we 
are  once  more,  Doctor."  She  had  not  appeared  to 
notice  McTeague's  embarrassment.  The  difficulty 
had  been  tided  over  somehow.  Once  more  Mc 
Teague  felt  himself  saved. 

"  To  der  beach!  "  shouted  Mr.  Sieppe.  They  had 
checked  their  baskets  at  the  peanut  stand.  The 
72 


McTeague 

whole  party :  trooped  down  to  the  seashore.  The 
greyhound  was  turned  loose.  The  children  raced 
on  ahead. 

From  one  of  the  larger  parcels  Mr.  Sieppe  had 
drawn  forth  a  small  tin  steamboat — August's  birth 
day  present—  a  gaudy  little  toy  which  could  be 
steamed  up  and  navigated  by  means  of  an  alcohol 
lamp.  H-:r  trial  trip  was  to  be  made  this  morning. 

"  Gi'  me  it,  gi'  me  it,"  shouted  August,  dancing 
around  his  father, 

"  Not  soh,  not  soh,"  cried  Mr.  Sieppe,  bearing  it 
aloft.  "  I  must  first  der  eggsperimunt  make." 

"  No,  no!  "  wailed  August.  "  I  want  to  play  with 
lit." 

"Obey!"  thundered  Mr.  Sieppe.  August  sub 
sided.  A  little  jetty  ran  part  of  the  way  into  the 
water.  Here,  after  a  careful  study  of  the  directions 
printed  on  the  cover  of  the  box,  Mr.  Sieppe  began 
to  fire  the  little  boat. 

"  I  want  to  put  tit  in  the  wa-ater,"  cried  August. 

"  Stand  back!  "  shouted  his  parent.  "  You  do  not 
know  so  well  as  me;  dere  is  dandger.  Mitout  atten 
tion  he  will  eggsplode." 

"  I  want  to  play  with  ut,"  protested  August,  be 
ginning  to  cry. 

"  Ach,   soh;   you   cry,   bube! "   vociferated   Mr. 
Sieppe.     "  Mommer,"  addressing  Mrs.  Sieppe,  "  he 
will  soh  soon  be  ge-whipt,  eh?  " 
-••    "  I  want  my  boa-wut,"  screamed  August,  danc 
ing. 

"  Silence!  "  roared  Mr.  Sieppe.  The  little  boat 
began  to  hiss  and  smoke. 

"  Soh,"  observed  the  father,  "  he  gommence.  At- 


McTeaguc 

tendon!  I  put  him  in  der  water."  He  was  very  ex 
cited.  The  perspiration  dripped  from  the  back  of 
his  neck.  The  little  boat  was  launched.  It  hissed 
more  furiously  than  ever.  Clouds  of  steam  rolled 
from  it,  but  it  refused  to  move. 

"  You  don't  know  how  she  wo-rks,"  sobbed  Au 
gust. 

"  I  know  more  soh  mudge  as  der  grossest  liddle 
tool  as  you,"  cried  Mr.  Sieppe,  fiercely,  his  face 
purple. 

"You  must  give  it  sh — shove!"  exclaimed  the 
boy. 

"  Den  he  eggsplode,  idiot!  "  shouted  his  father. 
All  at  once  the  boiler  of  the  steamer  blew  up  with 
a  sharp  crack.  The  little  tin  toy  turned  over  and 
sank  out  of  sight  before  any  one  could  interfere. 

"  Ah— h !  Yah !  Yah !  "  yelled  August.  "  It's 
go-one!  " 

Instantly  Mr.  Sieppe  boxed  his  ears.  There  was 
a  lamentable  scene.  August  rent  the  air  with  his 
outcries;  his  father  shook  him  till  his  boots  danced 
on  the  jetty,  shouting  into  his  face: 

"Ach,  idioii  Ach,  imbecile!  Ach,  miserable!  I 
tor  you  he  eggsplode.  Stop  your  cry.  Stop!  It  is 
an  order.  Do  you  wish  I  drow  you  in  der  water, 
eh?  Speak.  Silence,  bube!  Mommer,  where  ist 
mem  stick?  He  will  der  grossest  whippun  ever  of 
his  life  receive." 

Little  by  little  the  boy  subsided,  swallowing  his 
sobs,  knuckling  his  eyes,  gazing  ruefully  at  the  spot 
where  the  boat  had  sunk.  "  Dot  is  better  soh," 
commented  Mr.  Sieppe,  finally  releasing  him. 
"  Next  dime  berhaps  you  will  your  fat'er  better  pe- 

74 


McTeague 

lief.  Now,  no  more.  We  will  der  glams  ge-dig. 
Mommer,  a  fire.  Ach,  himmel !  we  have  der  pf  effer 
forgotten." 

The  work  of  clam  digging  began  at  once,  the  little 
boys  taking  off  their  shoes  and  stockings.  At  first 
August  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  it  was  not  until 
his  father  drove  him  into  the  water  with  his  gold- 
headed  cane  that  he  consented  to  jom  the  others. 

What  a  day  that  was  for  McTeague!  What  a 
never-to-be-forgotten  day!  He  was  with  Trina  con 
stantly.  They  laughed  together — she  demurely,  her 
lips  closed  tight,  her  little  chin  thrusf  out,  her  small 
pale  nose,  with  its  adorable  little  freckles,  wrinkling; 
he  roared  with  all  the  force  of  his  lungs,  his  enor 
mous  mouth  distended,  striking  sledge-hammer 
blows  upon  his  knee  with  his  clenched  fist. 

The  lunch  was  delicious.  Trina  and  her  mother 
made  a  clam  chowder  that  melted  in  one's  mouth. 
The  lunch  baskets  were  emptied.  The  party  were 
fully  two  hours  eating.  There  were  huge  loaves  of 
rye  bread  full  of  grains  of  chickweed.  There  were 
wienerwurst  and  frankfurter  sausages.  There  was 
unsalted  butter.  There  were  pretzels.  There  was 
cold  underdone  chicken,  which  one  ate  in  slices, 
plastered  with  a  wonderful  kind  of  mustard  that  did 
not  sting.  There  were  dried  apples,  that  gave  Mr. 
Sieppe  the  hiccoughs.  There  were  a  dozen  bottles 
of  beer,  and,  last  of  all,  a  crowning  achievement,  a 
marvellous  Gotha  truffle.  After  lunch  came  to 
bacco.  Stuffed  to  the  eyes,  McTeague  drowsed  over 
his  pipe,  prone  on  his  back  in  the  sun,  while  Trina, 
Mrs.  Sieppe,  and  Selina  washed  the  dishes.  In 
the  afternoon  Mr.  Sieppe  disappeared.  They  heard 
75 


McTeague 

the  reports  of  his  rifle  on  the  range.  The  others 
swarmed  over  the  park,  now  around  the  swings, 
now  in  the  Casino,  now  in  the  museum,  now  in 
vading  the  merry-go-round. 

At  half-past  five  o'clock  Mr.  Sieppe  marshalled 
the  party  together.  It  was  time  to  return  home. 

The  family  insisted  that  Marcus  and  McTeague 
should  take  supper  with  them  at  their  home  and 
should  stay  over  night.  Mrs.  Sieppe  argued  they 
could  get  no  decent  supper  if  they  went  back  to 
the  city  at  that  hour;  that  they  could  catch  an  early 
morning  boat  and  reach  their  business  in  good  time. 
The  two  friends  accepted. 

The  Sieppes  lived  in  a  little  box  of  a  house  at  the 
foot  of  B  Street,  the  first  house  to  the  right  as  one 
went  up  from  the  station.  It  was  two  stories  high, 
with  a  funny  red  mansard  roof  of  oval  slates.  The 
interior  was  cut  up  into  innumerable  tiny  rooms, 
some  of  them  so  small  as  to  be  hardly  better  than 
sleeping  closets.  In  the  back  yard  was  a  contriv 
ance  for  pumping  water  from  the  cistern  that  inter 
ested  McTeague  at  once.  It  was  a  dog-wheel,  a 
huge  revolving  box  in  which  the  unhappy  black 
greyhound  spent  most  of  his  waking  hours.  It  was 
his  kennel;  he  slept  in  it.  From  time  to  time  during 
the  day  Mrs.  Sieppe  appeared  on  the  back  door 
step,  crying  shrilly,  "Hoop,  hoop!"  She  threw 
lumps  of  coal  at  him,  waking  him  to  his  work. 

They  were  all  very  tired,  and  went  to  bed  early. 
After  great  discussion  it  was  decided  that  Marcus 
would  sleep  upon  the  lounge  in  the  front  parlor. 
Trina  would  sleep  with  August,  giving  up  her  room 
to  McTeague.  Selina  went  to  her  home,  a  block  or 

76 


McTeague 

so  above  the  Sieppes's.  At  nine  o'clock  Mr.  Sieppe 
showed  McTeague  to  his  room  and  left  him  to  him 
self  with  a  newly  lighted  candle. 

For  a  long  time  after  Mr.  Sieppe  had  gone 
McTeague  stood  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  his  elbows  pressed  close  to  kis  sides,  looking 
obliquely  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  He  hardly 
dared  to  move.  He  was  in  Trina's  room. 

It  was  an  ordinary  little  room.  A  clean  white 
matting  was  on  the  floor;  gray  paper,  spotted  with 
pink  and  green  flowers,  covered  the  walls.  In  one 
corner,  under  a  white  netting,  was  a  little  bed,  the 
woodwork  gayly  painted  with  knots  of  bright  flow 
ers.  Near  it,  against  the  wall,  was  a  black  walnut 
bureau.  A  work-table  with  spiral  legs  stood  by  the 
window,  which  was  hung  with  a  green  and  gold 
window  curtain.  Opposite  the  window  the  closet 
door  stood  ajar,  while  in  the  corner  across  from  the 
bed  was  a  tiny  washstand  with  two  clean  towels. 

And  that  was  all.  But  it  was  Trina's  room.  Mc 
Teague  was  in  his  lady's  bower;  it  seemed  to  him  a 
little  nest,  intimate,  discreet.  He  felt  hideously 
out  of  place.  He  wras  an  intruder;  he,  with  his 
enormous  feet,  his  colossal  bones,  his  crude,  brutal 
gestures.  The  mere  weight  of  his  limbs,  he  was 
sure,  would  crush  the  little  bedstead  like  an  egg 
shell. 

Then,  as  this  first  sensation  wore  off,  he  began  to 
feel  the  charm  of  the  little  chamber.  It  was  as 
though  Trina  were  close  by,  but  invisible.  Mc 
Teague  felt  all  the  delight  of  her  presence  without 
the  embarrassment  that  usually  accompanied  it.  He 
was  near  to  her — nearer  than  he  had  ever  been  be- 
77 


McTeaguc 

fore.  He  saw  into  her  daily  life,  her  little  ways 
and  manners,  her  habits,  her  very  thoughts.  And 
was  there  not  in  the  air  of  that  room  a  certain  faint 
perfume  that  he  knew,  that  recalled  her  to  his  mind 
with  marvellous  vividness? 

As  he  put  the  candle  down  upon  the  bureau  he 
saw  her  hairbrush  lying  there.  Instantly  he  picked 
it  up,  and,  without  knowing  why,  held  it  to  his  face. 
With  what  a  delicious  odor  was  it  redolent!  That 
heavy,  enervating  odor  of  her  hair — her  wonderful, 
royal  hair!  The  smell  of  that  little  hairbrush  was 
talismanic.  He  had  but  to  close  his  eyes  to  see  her 
as  distinctly  as  in  a  mirror.  He  saw  her  tiny,  round 
figure,  dressed  all  in  black — for,  curiously  enough, 
it  was  his  very  first  impression  of  Trina  that  came 
back  to  him  now — not  the  Trina  of  the  later  occa 
sions,  not  the  Trina  of  the  blue  cloth  skirt  and  white 
sailor.  He  saw  her  as  he  had  seen  her  the  day  that 
Marcus  had  introduced  them:  saw  her  pale,  round 
face;  her  narrow,  half-open  eyes,  blue  like  the  eyes 
of  a  baby;  her  tiny,  pale  ears,  suggestive  of  anaemia; 
the  freckles  across  the  bridge  of  her  nose;  her  pale 
lips;  the  tiara  of  royal  black  hair;  and,  above  all, 
the  delicious  poise  of  the  head,  tipped  back  as 
though  by  the  weight  of  all  that  hair — the  poise 
that  thrust  out  her  chin  a  little,  with  the  movement 
that  was  so  confiding,  so  innocent,  so  nearly  in 
fantile. 

McTeague  went  softly  about  the  room  from  one 
object  to  another,  beholding  Trina  in  erery thing  he 
touched  or  looked  at.  He  came  at  las*  to  the  closet 
door.  It  was  ajar.  He  opened  it  wide,  and  paused 
upon  the  threshold. 

78 


McTcague 

Trina's  clothes  were  hanging  there — skirts  and 
waists,  jackets,  and  stiff  white  petticoats.  What  a 
vision!  For  an  instant  McTeague  caught  his 
breath,  spellbound.  If  he  had  suddenly  discov 
ered  Trina  herself  there,  smiling  at  him,  holding  out 
her  hands,  he  could  hardly  have  been  more  over 
come.  Instantly  he  recognized  the  black  dress  she 
had  worn  on  that  famous  first  day.  There  it  was, 
the  little  jacket  she  had  carried  over  her  arm  the 
day  he  had  terrified  her  with  his  blundering  declara 
tion,  and  still  others,  and  others — a  whole  group 
of  Trinas  faced  him  there.  He  went  farther  into 
the  closet,  touching  the  clothes  gingerly,  stroking 
them  softly  with  his  huge  leathern  palms.  As  he 
stirred  them  a  delicate  perfume  disengaged  itself 
from  the  folds.  Ah,  that  exquisite  feminine  odor! 
It  was  not  only  her  hair  now,  it  was  Trina  her 
self — her  mouth,  her  hands,  her  neck;  the  indescrib 
ably  sweet,  fleshly  aroma  that  was  a  part  of  her, 
pure  and  clean,  and  redolent  of  youth  and  fresh 
ness.  All  at  once,  seized  with  an  unreasoned  im 
pulse,  McTeague  opened  his  huge  arms  and  garn 
ered  the  little  garments  close  to  him,  plunging  his 
face  deep  amongst  them,  savoring  their  delicious 
odor  with  long  breaths  of  luxury  and  supreme  con 
tent. 

The  picnic  at  Schuetzen  Park  decided  matters. 
McTeague  began  to  call  on  Trina  regularly  Sunday 
and  Wednesday  afternoons.  He  took  Marcus 
Schouler's  place.  Sometimes  Marcus  accompanied 
him,  but  it  was  generally  to  meet  Selina  by  ap 
pointment  at  the  Sieppes's  house. 

79 


McTeague 

But  Marcus  made  the  most  of  his  renunciation 
of  his  cousin.  He  remembered  his  pose  from  time 
to  time.  He  made  McTeague  unhappy  and  be 
wildered  by  wringing  his  hand,  by  venting  sighs 
that  seemed  to  tear  his  heart  out,  or  by  giving  evi 
dences  of  an  infinite  melancholy.  "  What  is  my 
life!"  he  would  exclaim.  "  What  is  left  for  me? 
Nothing,  by  damn!  "  And  when  McTeague  would 
attempt  remonstrance,  he  would  cry:  "  Never  mind, 
old  man.  Never  mind  me.  Go,  be  happy.  I  for 
give  you," 

Forgive  what?  McTeague  was  all  at  sea,  was 
harassed  with  the  thought  of  some  shadowy,  irrepa 
rable  injury  he  had  done  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  don't  think  of  me!  "  Marcus  would  exclaim 
at  other  times,  even  when  Trina  was  by.  "  Don't 
think  of  me;  I  don't  count  any  more.  I  ain't  in  it." 
Marcus  seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  contem 
plating  the  wreck  of  his  life.  There  is  no  doubt  he 
enjoyed  himself  hugely  during  these  days. 

The  Sieppes  were  at  first  puzzled  as  well  over 
this  change  of  front. 

"  Trina  has  den  a  new  younge  man,"  cried  Mr. 
Sieppe.  "  First  Schouler,  now  der  doktor,  eh? 
What  die  tevil,  I  say!  " 

Weeks  passed,  February  went,  March  came  in 
very  rainy,  putting  a  stop  to  all  their  picnics  and 
Sunday  excursions. 

One  Wednesday  afternoon  in  the  second  week 
in  March  McTeague  came  over  to  call  on  Trina, 
bringing  his  concertina  with  him,  as  was  his  cus 
tom  nowadays.  As  he  got  off  the  train  at  the  sta 
tion  he  was  surprised  to  find  Trina  waiting  for  him. 

80 


McTeague 

*'  This  is  the  first  day  it  hasn't  rained  in  weeks," 
she  explained,  "  an'  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  to 
walk." 

"  Sure,  sure,"  assented  McTeague. 

B  Street  station  was  nothing  more  than  a  little 
shed.  There  was  no  ticket  office,  nothing  but  a 
couple  of  whittled  and  carven  benches.  It  was  built 
close  to  the  railroad  tracks,  just  across  which  was 
the  dirty,  muddy  shore  of  San  Francisco  Bay. 
About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  back  from  the  station 
was  the  edge  of  the  town  of  Oakland.  Between 
the  station  and  the  first  houses  of  the  town  lay  im 
mense  salt  flats,  here  and  there  broken  by  winding 
streams  of  black  water.  The*y  were  covered  with  a 
growth  of  wiry  grass,  strangely  discolored  in  places 
by  enormous  stains  of  orange  yellow. 

Near  the  station  a  bit  of  fence  painted  with  a 
cigar  advertisement  reeled  over  into  the  mud, 
while  under  its  lee  lay  an  abandoned  gravel  wagon 
with  dished  wheels.  The  station  was  connected  with 
the  town  by  the  extension  of  B  Street,  which  struck 
across  the  flats  geometrically  straight,  a  file  of  tall 
poles  with  intervening  \vi"es  marching  along  with  it. 
At  the  station  these  were  headed  by  an  iron  electric- 
light  pole  that,  with  its  supports  and  outriggers, 
looked  for  all  the  world  like  an  immense  grasshop 
per  on  its  hind  legs. 

Across  the  flats,  at  the  fringe  of  the  town,  were 
the  dump  heaps,  the  figures  of  a  few  Chinese  rag 
pickers  moving  over  them.  Far  to  the  left  the  view 
was  shut  off  by  the  immense  red-brown  drum  of  the 
gas-works;  to  the  right  it  was  bounded  by  the  chim 
neys  and  workshops  of  an  iron  foundry. 
6  Si 


McTeaguc 

Across  the  railroad  tracks,  to  seaward,  one  saw 
the  long  stretch  of  black  mud  bank  left  bare  by  the 
tide,  which  was  far  out,  nearly  half  a  mile.  Clouds 
of  sea-gulls  were  forever  rising  and  settling  upon 
this  mud  bank;  a  wrecked  and  abandoned  wharf 
crawled  over  it  on  tottering  legs;  close  in  an  old 
sailboat  lay  canted  on  her  bilge. 

But  farther  on,  across  the  yellow  waters  of  the 
bay,  beyond  Goat  Island,  lay  San  Francisco,  a  blue 
line  of  hills,  rugged  with  roofs  and  spires.  Far  to 
the  westward  opened  the  Golden  Gate,  a  bleak  cut 
ting  in  the  sand-hills,  through  which  one  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  open  Pacific. 

The  station  at  B  Street  was  solitary;  no  trains 
passed  at  this  hour;  except  the  distant  rag-pickers, 
not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  The  wind  blew  strong,  car 
rying  with  it  the  mingled  smell  of  salt,  of  tar,  of 
dead  seaweed,  and  of  bilge.  The  sky  hung  low  and 
brown;  at  long  intervals  a  few  drops  of  rain  fell. 

Near  the  station  Trina  and  McTeague  sat  on  the 
roadbed  of  fhe  tracks,  at  the  edge  of  the  mud  bank, 
making  the  most  out  of  the  landscape,  enjoying  the 
open  air,  the  salt  marshes,  and  the  sight  of  the  dis 
tant  water.  From  time  to  time  McTeague  played 
his  six  mournful  airs  upon  his  concertina. 

After  a  while  they  began  walking  up  and  down 
the  tracks,  McTeague  talking  about  his  profes 
sion,  Trina  listening,  very  interested  and  absorbed, 
trying  to  understand. 

"  For  pulling  the  roots  of  the  upper  molars  we 
use  the  cow-horn  forceps,"  continued  the  dentist, 
monotonously.  "  We  get  the  inside  beak  over  the 
palatal  roots  and  the  cow-horn  beak  over  the  buccal 

82 


McTeague 

roots — that's  the  roots  on  the  outside,  you  see. 
Then  we  close  the  forceps,  and  that  breaks  right 
through  the  alveolus — that's  the  part  of  the  socket 
in  the  jaw,  you  understand." 

At  another  moment  he  told  her  of  his  one  unsatis 
fied  desire.  "  Some  day  I'm.  going  to  have  a  big 
gilded  tooth  outside  my  window  for  a  sign.  Those 
big  gold  teeth  are  beautiful,  beautiful — only  they 
cost  so  much,  I  can't  afford  one  just  now." 

"  Oh,  it's  raining,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Trina, 
holding  out  her  palm.  They  turned  back  and 
reached  the  station  in  a  drizzle.  The  afternoon  was 
closing  in  dark  and  rainy.  The  tide  was  coming 
back,  talking  and  lapping  for  miles  along  the  mud 
bank.  Far  off  across  the  flats,  at  the  edge  of  the 
town,  an  electric  car  went  by,  stringing  out  a  long 
row  of  diamond  sparks  on  the  overhead  wires. 

"  Say,  Miss  Trina,"  said  McTeague,  after  a  while, 
"  what's  the  good  of  waiting  any  longer?  Why 
can't  us  two  get  married?" 

Trina  still  s'hook  her  head,  saying  "  No  "  instinct 
ively,  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Why  not?  "  persisted  McTeague.  "  Don't  you 
like  me  well  enough?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Then  why  not?" 

"  Because." 

"Ah,  come  on,"  he  said,  but  Trina  still  shook 
her  head. 

"  Ah,  come  on,"  urged  McTeague.  He  ccmld 
think  of  nothing  else  to  say,  repeating  the  same 
phrase  over  and  over  again  to  all  her  refusals. 

"  Ah,  come  on!    Ah,  come  on!  " 
83 


McTeague 

Suddenly  he  took  her  in  his  enormous  arms, 
crushing  down  her  struggle  with  his  immense 
strength.  Then  Trina  gave  up,  all  in  an  instant, 
turning  her  head  to  his.  They  kissed  each  other, 
grossly,  full  in  the  mouth. 

A  roar  and  a  jarring  of  the  earth  suddenly  grew 
near  and  passed  them  in  a  reek  of  steam  and  hot  air. 
It  was  the  Overland,  with  its  flaming  headlight,  on 
its  way  across  the  continent. 

The  passage  of  the  train  startled  them  both. 
Trina  struggled  to  free  herself  from  McTeague. 
"  Oh,  please!  please!  "  she  pleaded,  on  the  point  of 
tears.  McTeague  released  her,  but  in  that  moment 
a  slight,  a  barely  perceptible,  revulsion  of  feeling 
had  taken  place  in  him.  The  instant  that  Trina  gave 
up,  the  instant  she  allowed  him  to  kiss  her,  he 
thought  less  of  her.  She  was  not  so  desirable,  after 
all.  But  this  reaction  was  so  faint,  so  subtle,  so  in 
tangible,  that  in  another  moment  he  had  doubted  its 
occurrence.  Yet  afterward  it  returned.  Was  there 
not  something  gone  from  Trina  now?  Was  he  not 
disappointed  in  her  for  doing  that  very  thing  for 
which  he  had  longed?  Was  Trina  the  submissive, 
the  compliant,  the  attainable  just  the  same,  just  as 
delicate  and  adorable  as  Trina  the  inacessible?  Per 
haps  he  dimly  saw  that  this  must  be  so,  that  it  be 
longed  to  the  changeless  order  of  things — the  man 
desiring  the  woman  only  for  what  she  withholds; 
the  woman  worshipping  the  man  for  that  which  she 
yields  up  to  him.  With  each  concession  gained  the 
man's  desire  cools;  with  every  surrender  made  the 
woman's  adoration  increases.  But  why  should  it 
be  so? 

84 


McTeague 

Trina  wrenched  herself  free  and  drew  back  from 
McTeague,  her  little  chin  quivering;  her  face,  even 
to  the  lobes  of  her  pale  ears,  flushed  scarlet;  her  nar 
row  blue  eyes  brimming.  Suddenly  she  put  her 
head  between  her  hands  and  began  to  sob. 

"  Say,  say,  Miss  Trina,  listen — listen  here, 
Miss  Trina,"  cried  McTeague,  coming  forward  a 
step. 

"Oh,  don't!"  she  gasped,  shrinking.  "I  must 
go  home,"  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet.  "  It's 
late.  I  must.  I  must.  Don't  come  with  me,  please. 
Oh,  I'm  so — so," — she  could  not  find  any  words. 
"  Let  me  go  alone,"  she  went  on.  "  You  may — you 
come  Sunday.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  said  McTeague,  his  head  in  a  whirl 
at  this  sudden,  unaccountable  change.  "  Can't  I  kiss 
you  again?"  But  Trina  was  firm  now.  When  it 
came  to  his  pleading — a  mere  matter  of  words — 
she  was  strong  enough. 

"No,  no,  you  must  not!"  she  exclaimed,  with 
energy.  She  was  gone  in  another  instant.  The 
dentist,  stunned,  bewildered,  gazed  stupidly  after 
her  as  she  ran  up  the  extension  of  B  Street  through 
the  rain. 

But  suddenly  a  greaft  joy  took  possession  of  him. 
He  had  won  her.  Trina  was  to  be  for  him,  after  all. 
An  enormous  smile  distended  his  thick  lips;  his 
eyes  grew  wide,  and  flashed;  and  he  drew  his  breath 
quickly,  striking  his  mallet-like  fist  upon  his  knee, 
and  exclaiming  under  his  breath: 

"  I  got  her,  by  God!  I  got  her,  by  God!  "  At  the 
same  time  he  thought  better  of  himself;  his  self- 
respect  increased  enormously.  The  man  that  could 

85 


McTcaguc 

win  Trina  Sieppe  was  a  man  of  extraordinary 
ability. 

Trina  burst  m  upon  her  mother  while  the  latter 
was  setting  a  mousetrap  in  the  kitchen. 

"Oh,  mamma!" 

"  Eh,  Trina?    Ach,  what  has  happun?  " 

Trina  told  her  in  a  breath. 

"  Soh  soon?  "  was  Mrs.  Sieppe's  first  comment. 
"  Eh,  well,  what  you  cry  for,  then?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  wailed  Trina,  plucking  at  the 
end  of  her  handkerchief. 

"  You  loaf  der  younge  doktor?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  what  for  you  kiss  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don'  know,  you  don'  know?  Where  haf 
your  sensus  gone,  Trina?  You  kiss  der  doktor. 
You  cry,  and  you  don'  know.  Is  ut  Marcus  den?  " 

"  No,  it's  not  Cousin  Mark." 

"  Den  ut  must  be  der  doktor." 

Trina  made  no  answer. 

"Eh?" 

"  I—I  guess  so." 

"You  loaf  him?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Mrs.  Sieppe  set  down  the  mousetrap  with  such 
violence  that  it  sprung  with  a  sharp  snap. 


No,  Trina  did  not  know.  "  Do  I  love  him?  Do 
I  love  him?"  A  thousand  times  she  put  the  ques 
tion  to  herself  during  the  next  two  or  three  days. 
At  night  she  hardly  slept,  but  lay  broad  awake  for 
hours  in  her  little,  gayly  painted  bed,  with  its  white 
netting,  torturing  herself  with  doubts  and  questions. 
At  times  she  remembered  the  scene  in  the  station 
with  a  veritable  agony  of  shame,  and  at  other  times 
she  was  ashamed  to  recall  it  with  a  thrill  of  joy. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  sudden,  more  un 
expected,  than  that  surrender  of  herself.  For  over 
a  year  she  had  thought  that  Marcus  would  some 
day  be  her  husband.  They  would  be  married,  she 
supposed,  some  time  in  the  future,  she  did  not  know 
exactly  when;  the  matter  did  not  take  definite  shape 
in  her  mind.  She  liked  Cousin  Mark  very  well. 
And  then  suddenly  this  cross-current  had  set  in; 
this  blond  giant  had  appeared,  this  huge,  stolid 
fellow,  with  his  immense,  crude  strength.  She  had 
not  loved  him  at  first,  that  was  certain.  The  day 
he  had  spoken  to  her  in  his  "  Parlors  "  she  had  only 
been  terrified.  If  he  had  confined  himself  to  merely 
speaking,  as  did  Marcus,  to  pleading  with  her,  to 
wooing  her  at  a  distance,  forestalling  her  wishes, 
showing  her  little  attentions,  sending  her  boxes  of 
candy,  she  could  have  easily  withstood  him.  But 
he  had  only  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  crush  down 

87 


McTeague 

her  struggle  with  his  enormous  strength,  to  subdue 
her,  conquer  her  by  sheer  brute  force,  and  she  gave 
up  in  an  instant. 

But  why — why  had  she  done  so?  Why  did  she 
feel  the  desire,  the  necessity  of  being  conquered  by 
a  superior  strength?  Why  did  it  please  her?  Why 
had  it  suddenly  thrilled  her  from  head  to  foot  with 
a  quick,  terrifying  gust  of  passion,  the  like  of  which 
she  had  never  known?  Never  at  his  best  had  Mar 
cus  made  her  feel  like  that,  and  yet  she  had  always 
thought  she  cared  for  Cousin  Mark  more  than  for 
any  one  else. 

When  McTeague  had  all  at  once  caught  her  in 
his  huge  arms,  something  had  leaped  to  life  in  her — 
something  that  had  hitherto  lain  dormant,  some 
thing  strong  and  overpowering.  It  frightened  her 
now  as  she  thought  of  it,  this  second  self  that  had 
wakened  within  her,  and  that  shouted  and  clamored 
for  recognition.  And  yet,  was  it  to  be  feared?  Was 
it  something  to  be  ashamed  of?  Was  it  not,  after 
all,  natural,  clean,  spontaneous?  Trina  knew  that 
she  was  a  pure  girl ;  knew  that  this  sudden  commo 
tion  within  her  carried  with  it  no  suggestion  of  vice. 

Dimly,  as  figures  seen  in  a  waking  dream,  these 
ideas  floated  through  Trina's  mind.  It  was  quite 
beyond  her  to  realize  them  clearly;  she  could  not 
know  what  they  meant.  Until  that  rainy  day  by 
the  shore  of  the  bay  Trina  had  lived  her  life  writh 
as  little  self-consciousness  as  a  tree.  She  was  frank, 
straightforward,  a  healthy,  natural  human  being, 
without  sex  as  yet.  She  was  almost  like  a  boy.  At 
once  there  had  been  a  mysterious  disturbance.  The 
woman  within  her  suddenly  awoke. 

88 


McTearrue 


o 


Did  she  love  McTeague?  Difficult  question. 
Did  she  choose  him  for  better  or  for  worse,  delib 
erately,  of  her  own  free  will,  or  was  Trina  herself 
allowed  even  a  choice  in  the  taking  of  that  step  that 
was  to  make  or  mar  her  life?  The  Woman  is  awak 
ened,  and,  starting  from  her  sleep,  catches  blindly  at 
what  first  her  newly  opened  eyes  light  upon.  It  is 
a  spell,  a  witchery,  ruled  by  chance  alone,  inex 
plicable — a  fairy  queen  enamored  of  a  clown  with 
ass's  ears. 

McTeague  had  awakened  the  Woman,  and, 
whether  she  would  or  no,  she  was  his  now  irrevoca 
bly;  struggle  against  it  as  she  would,  she  belonged 
to  him,  body  and  soul,  for  life  or  for  death.  She 
had  not  sought  it,  she  had  not  desired  it.  The  spell 
was  laid  upon  her.  Was  it  a  blessing?  Was  it  a 
curse?  It  was  all  one;  she  was  his,  indissolubly, 
for  evil  or  for  good. 

And  he?  The  very  act  of  submission  that  bound 
the  woman  to  him  forever  had  made  her  seem  less 
desirable  in  his  eyes.  Their  undoing  had  already 
begun.  Yet  neither  of  them  was  to  blame.  From 
the  first  they  had  not  sought  each  other.  Chance 
had  brought  them  face  to  face,  and  mysterious  in 
stincts  as  ungovernable  as  the  winds  of  heaven 
were  at  work  knitting  their  lives  together.  Neither 
of  them  had  asked  that  this  thing  should  be — that 
their  destinies,  their  very  souls,  should  be  the  sport 
of  chance.  If  they  could  have  known,  they  would 
have  shunned  the  fearful  risk.  But  they  were  al 
lowed  no  "oice  in  the  matter.  Why  should  it  all  be? 

It  haa  been  on  a  Wednesday  that  the  scene  in 
the  B  Street  station  had  taken  place.  Throughout 

89 


McTeague 

the  rest  of  the  week,  at  every  hour  of  the  day, 
Trina  asked  herself  the  same  question:  "  Do  I  love 
him?  Do  I  really  love  him?  Is  this  what  love  is 
like?  "  As  she  recalled  McTeague — recalled  his 
huge,  square-cut  head,  his  salient  jaw,  his  shock  of 
yellow  hair,  'his  heavy,  lumbering  body,  his  slow  wits 
— she  found  little  to  admire  in  him  beyond  his  phys 
ical  strength,  and  at  such  moments  she  shook  her 
head  decisively.  "  No,  surely  she  did  not  love  him." 
Sunday  afternoon,  however,  McTeague  called. 
Trina  had  prepared  a  little  speech  for  him.  She  was 
to  tell  him  that  she  did  not  know  what  had  been  the 
matter  with  her  that  Wednesday  afternoon ;  that  she 
had  acted  like  a  bad  girl;  that  she  did  not  love  him 
well  enough  to  marry  him;  that  she  had  told  him 
as  much  once  before. 

McTeague  saw  her  alone  in  the  little  front  parlor. 
The  instant  she  appeared  he  came  straight  towards 
her.  She  saw  what  he  was  bent  upon  doing.  "  Wait 
a  minute,"  she  cried,  putting  out  her  hands.  "  Wait 
You  don't  understand.  I  have  got  something  to 
say  to  you/'  She  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the 
wind.  McTeague  put  aside  her  hands  with  a  single 
gesture,  and  gripped  her  to  him  in  a  bearlike  em 
brace  that  all  but  smothered  her.  Trina  was  but  a 
reed  before  that  giant  strength.  McTeague  turned 
her  face  to  his  and  kissed  her  again  upon  the  mouth. 
Where  was  all  Trina' s  resolve  then?  Where  was 
her  carefully  prepared  little  speech?  Where  was 
all  her  hesitation  and  torturing  doubts  of  the  last 
few  days?  She  clasped  McTeague's  huge  red  neck 
with  both  her  slender  arms;  she  raised  her  adorable 
little  chin  and  kissed  him  in  return,  exclaiming: 

90 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  I  do  love  you!  I  do  love  you!  "  Never  after 
ward  were  the  two  so  happy  as  at  that  moment. 

A  little  later  in  that  same  week,  when  Marcus 
and  McTeague  were  taking  lunch  at  the  car  con 
ductors'  coffee-joint,  the  former  suddenly  ex 
claimed: 

"  Say,  Mac,  now  that  you've  got  Trina,  you  ought 
to  do  more  for  her.  By  damn !  you  ought  to,  for  a 
fact.  Why  don't  you  take  her  out  somewhere — to 
the  theatre,  or  somewhere?  You  ain't  on  to  your 
job." 

Naturally,  McTeague  had  told  Marcus  of  his  suc 
cess  with  Trina.  Marcus  had  taken  on  a  grand  air. 

"  You've  got  her,  have  you?  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it, 
old  man.  I  am,  for  a  fact.  I  know  you'll  be  happy 
with  her.  I  know  how  I  would  have  been.  I  for 
give  you;  yes,  I  forgive  you,  freely." 

McTeague  had  not  thought  of  taking  Trina  to 
the  theatre. 

"You  think  I  ought  to,  Mark?"  he  inquired, 
hesitating.  Marcus  answered,  with  his  mouth  full 
of  suet  pudding: 

"  Why,  of  course.     That's  the  proper  caper." 

'•  Well— well,  that's  so.  The  theatre— that's  the 
word," 

"  Take  her  to  the  variety  show  at  the  Orpheum. 
There's  a  good  show  there  this  week;  you'll  have 
to  take  Mrs.  Sieppe,  too,  of  course,"  he  added. 
Marcus  was  not  sure  of  himself  as  regarded  certain 
proprieties,  nor,  for  that  matter,  were  any  of  the 
people  of  the  little  world  of  Polk  Street.  The  shop 
girls,  the  plumbers'  apprentices,  the  small  trades 
people,  and  their  like,  whose  social  position  was  not 

91 


McTeague 

clearly  defined,  could  never  be  sure  how  far  they 
could  go  and  yet  preserve  their  "  respectability." 
When  they  wished  to  be  "  proper,"  they  invariably 
overdid  the  thing.  It  was  not  as  if  they  belonged 
to  the  "  tough  "  element,  who  had  no  appearances 
to  keep  up.  Polk  Street  rubbed  elbows  with  the 
*  avenue  "  one  block  above.  There  were  certain 
limits  which  its  dwellers  could  not  overstep;  but 
unfortunately  for  them,  these  limits  were  poorly  de 
fined.  They  could  never  be  sure  of  themselves.  At 
an  unguarded  moment  they  might  be  taken  for 
"  toughs,"  so  they  generally  erred  in  the  other  di 
rection,  and  were  absurdly  formal.  No  people  have 
a  keener  eye  for  the  amenities  than  those  whose 
social  position  is  not  assured. 

"  Oh,  sure,  you'll  have  to  take  her  mother,"  in 
sisted  Marcus.  "  It  wouldn't  be  the  proper  racket 
if  you  didn't." 

McTeague  undertook  the  affair.  It  was  an  or 
deal.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  perturbed, 
so  horribly  anxious.  He  called  upon  Trina  the  fol 
lowing  Wednesday  and  made  arrangements.  Mrs. 
Sieppe  asked  if  little  August  might  be  included.  It 
would  console  him  for  the  loss  of  his  steamboat. 

"  Sure,  sure,"  said  McTeague.  "  August  too*-— 
everybody,"  he  added,  vaguely. 

"  We  always  have  to  leave  so  early,"  complained 
Trina,  "  in  order  to  catch  the  last  boat.  Just  when 
it's  becoming  interesting." 

At  this  McTeague,  acting  upon  a  suggestion  of 
Marcus  Schouler's,  insisted  they  should  stay  at  the 
flat  over  night.  Marcus  and  the  dentist  would 
give  up  their  rooms  to  them  and  sleep  at  the  dog 

92 


McTeague 

hospital.  There  was  a  bed  there  in  the  sick  ward 
that  old  Grannis  sometimes  occupied  when  a  bad 
case  needed  watching.  All  at  once  McTeague  had 
an  idea,  a  veritable  inspiration. 

"  And  we'll — we'll — we'll  have — what's  the  mat 
ter  with  having  something  to  eat  afterward  in  my 
"Parlors?" 

"  Vairy  goot,"  commented  Mrs.  Sieppe.  "  Bier, 
eh?  And  some  damales." 

"  Oh,  I  love  tamales! "  exclaimed  Trina,  clasping 
her  hands. 

McTeague  returned  to  the  city,  rehearsing  his  in 
structions  over  and  over.  The  theatre  party  began 
to  assume  tremendous  proportions.  First  of  all,  he 
was  to  get  the  seats,  the  third  or  fourth  row  from 
the  front,  on  the  left-hand  side,  so  as  to  be  out  of 
the  hearing  of  the  drums  in  the  orchestra;  he  must 
make  arrangements  about  the  rooms  with  Marcus, 
must  get  in  the  beer,  but  not  the  tamales;  must  buy 
for  himself  a  white  lawn  tie — so  Marcus  directed; 
must  look  to  it  that  Maria  Macapa  put  his  room  in 
perfect  order;  and,  finally,  must  meet  the  Sieppes  at 
the  ferry  slip  at  half-past  seven  the  following  Mon 
day  night. 

The  real  labor  of  the  affair  began  with  the  buying 
of  the  tickets.  At  the  theatre  McTeague  got  into 
wrong  entrances;  was  sent  from  one  wicket  to 
another;  was  bewildered,  confused;  misunderstood 
directions;  was  at  one  moment  suddenly  convinced 
that  he  had  not  enough  money  with  him,  and 
started  to  return  home.  Finally  he  found  himself 
at  the  box-office  wicket. 

"  Is  it  here  you  buy  your  seats?  " 
93 


McTeague 

"  How  many?  " 

"  is  it  here " 

"  What  night  do  you  want  'em?  Yes,  sir,  here's 
the  place." 

'McTeague  gravely  delivered  himself  of  the 
formula  he  had  been  reciting  for  the  last  dozen 
hours. 

"  I  want  four  seats  for  Monday  night  in  the  fourth 
row  from  the  front,  and  on  the  right-hand  side." 

"  Right  hand  as  you  face  the  house  or  as  you  face 
the  stage?  "  McTeague  was  dumfounded. 

"  I  want  to  be  on  the  right-hand  side,"  he  insisted, 
stolidly;  adding,  "in  order  to  be  away  from  the 
drums." 

"  Well,  the  drums  are  on  the  right  of  the  orches 
tra  as  you  face  the  stage,"  shouted  the  other  impa 
tiently;  "  you  want  to  the  left,  then,  as  you  face 
the  house." 

"  I  want  to  be  on  the  right-hand  side,"  persisted 
the  dentist. 

Without  a  word  the  seller  threw  out  four  tickets 
with  a  magnificent,  supercilious  gesture. 

"  There's  four  seats  on  the  right-hand  side,  then, 
and  you're  right  up  against  the  drums." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  near  the  drums,"  pro 
tested  McTeague,  beginning  to  perspire. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  want  at  all?  "  said  the 
ticket  seller  with  calmness,  thrusting  his  head  at 
McTeague.  The  dentist  knew  that  he  had  hurt  this 
young  man's  feelings. 

"  I  want — I  want,"  he  stammered.  The  seller 
slammed  down  a  plan  of  the  house  in  front  of  him 
and  began  to  explain  excitedly.  It  was  the  one 

94 


McTeague 

thing  lacking  to  complete  McTeague's  confu 
sion. 

"  There  are  your  seats,"  finished  the  seller,  shov 
ing  the  tickets  into  McTeague's  hands.  "  They  are 
the  fourth  row  from  the  front,  and  away  from  the 
drums.  Now  are  you  satisfied?  " 

"  Are  they  on  the  right-hand  side?  I  want  on  the 
right — no,  I  want  on  the  left.  I  want — I  don'  know, 
I  don'  know." 

The  seller  roared.  McTeague  moved  slowly 
away,  gazing  stupidly  at  the  blue  slips  of  paste 
board.  Two  girls  took  his  place  at  the  wicket. 
In  another  moment  McTeague  came  back,  peer 
ing  over  the  girls'  shoulders  and  calling  to  the 
seller: 

"  Are  these  for  Monday  night?  " 

The  other  disdained  reply.  McTeague  retreated 
again  timidly,  thrusting  the  tickets  into  his  immense 
wallet.  For  a  moment  he  stood  thoughtful  on  the 
steps  of  the  entrance.  Then  all  at  once  he  became 
enraged,  he  did  not  know  exactly  why;  somehow 
he  felt  himself  slighted.  Once  more  he  came  back 
to  the  wicket. 

"  You  can't  make  small  of  me,"  he  shouted  over 
the  girls'  shoulders;  "  you — you  can't  make  small  of 
me.  I'll  thump  you  in  the  head,  you  little — you 
little— you  little— little— little  pup."  The  ticket 
seller  shrugged  his  shoulders  wearily.  "  A  dollar 
and  a  half,"  he  said  to  the  two  girls. 

McTeague  glared  at  him  and  breathed  loudly. 
Finally  he  decided  to  let  the  matter  drop.  He 
moved  away,  but  on  the  steps  was  once  more  seized 
with  a  sense  of  injury  and  outraged  dignity. 

95 


McTeague 

"  You  can't  make  small  of  me,"  he  called  back 
a  last  time,  wagging  his  head  and  shaking  his  fist. 
"  I  will— I  will— I  will— yes,  I  will."  He  went  off 
muttering. 

At  last  Monday  night  came.  McTeague  met  the 
Sieppes  at  the  ferry,  dressed  in  a  black  Prince  Al 
bert  coat  and  his  best  slate-blue  trousers,  and  wear 
ing  the  made-up  lawn  necktie  that  Marcus  had 
selected  for  him.  Trina  was  very  pretty  in  the  black 
dress  that  McTeague  knew  so  well.  She  wore  a 
pair  of  new  gloves.  Mrs.  Sieppe  had  on  lisle-thread 
mits,  and  carried  two  bananas  and  an  orange  in  a 
net  reticule.  "  For  Owgooste,"  she  confided  to 
him.  Owgooste  was  in  a  Fauntleroy  "  costume  " 
very  much  too  small  for  him.  Already  he  had  been 
crying. 

'*  Woult  you  pelief,  Doktor,  dot  bube  has  torn 
his  stockun  alreatty?  Walk  in  der  front,  you;  stop 
cryun.  Where  is  dot  berliceman?  " 

At  the  door  of  the  theatre  McTeague  was  sud 
denly  seized  with  a  panic  terror.  He  had  lost  the 
tickets.  He  tore  through  his  pockets,  ransacked 
his  wallet.  They  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  All 
at  once  he  remembered,  and  with  a  gasp  of  relief 
removed  his  hat  and  took  them  out  from  beneath 
the  sweatband. 

The  party  entered  and  took  their  places.  It  was 
absurdly  early.  The  lights  were  all  darkened,  the 
ushers  stood  under  the  galleries  in  groups,  the 
empty  auditorium  echoing  with  their  noisy  talk. 
Occasionally  a  waiter  with  his  tray  and  clean  white 
apron  sauntered  up  and  down  the  aisle.  Directly 
in  front  of  them  was  the  great  iron  curtain  of  the 

96 


McTeague 

stage,  painted  with  all  manner  of  advertisements. 
From  behind  this  came  a  noise  of  hammering  and 
of  occasional  loud  voices. 

While  waiting  they  studied  their  programmes. 
First  was  an  overture  by  the  orchestra,  after  which 
came  "  The  Gleasons,  in  their  mirth-moving  musical 
farce,  entitled  '  McMonnigal's  Courtship.' '  This 
was  to  be  followed  by  "  The  Lamont  Sisters,  Winnie 
and  Violet,  serio-comiques  and  skirt  dancers."  And 
after  this  came  a  great  array  of  other  "  artists  "  and 
"  specialty  performers,"  musical  wonders,  acrobats, 
lightning  artists,  ventriloquists,  and  last  of  all,  "  The 
feature  of  the  evening,  the  crowning  scientific 
achievement  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  kineto- 
scope."  McTeague  was  excited,  dazzled.  In  five 
years  he  had  not  been  twice  to  the  theatre.  Now 
he  beheld  himself  inciting  his  "  girl "  and 
her  mother  to  accompany  him.  He  began  to  feel 
that  he  was  a  man  of  the  world.  He  ordered  a 
cigar. 

Meanwhile  the  house  was  filling  up.  A  few  side 
brackets  were  turned  on.  The  ushers  ran  up  and 
down  the  aisles,  stubs  of  tickets  between  their 
thumb  and  finger,  and  from  every  part  of  the  audi 
torium  could  be  heard  the  sharp  clap-clapping  of 
the  seats  as'the  ushers  flipped  them  down.  A  buzz 
of  talk  arose.  In  the  gallery  a  street  gamin  whistled 
shrilly,  and  called  to  some  friends  on  the  other  side 
of  the  house. 

"Are  they  go-wun  to  begin  pretty  soon,  ma?" 
whined  Owgooste  for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time;  add 
ing,  "  Say,  ma,  can't  I  have  some  candy?  "  A 
cadaverous  little  boy  had  appeared  in  their  aisle, 
7  97 


McTeaguc 

chanting,  "  Candies,  French  mixed  candies,  pop 
corn,  peanuts  and  candy."  The  orchestra  entered, 
each  man  crawling  out  from  an  opening  under  the 
stage,  hardly  larger  than  the  gate  of  a  rabbit  hutch. 
At  every  instant  now  the  crowd  increased;  there 
were  but  few  seats  that  were  not  taken.  The  waiters 
hurried  up  and  down  the  aisles,  their  trays  laden 
with  beer  glasses.  A  smell  of  cigar-smoke  filled 
the  air,  and  soon  a  faint  blue  haze  rose  from  all 
corners  of  the  house. 

u  Ma,  when  are  they  go-wun  to  begin?  "  cried 
Owgooste.  As  he  spoke  the  iron  advertisement 
curtain  rose,  disclosing  the  curtain  proper  under 
neath.  This  latter  curtain  was  quite  an  affair.  Upon 
it  was  painted  a  wonderful  picture.  A  flight  of 
marble  steps  led  down  to  a  stream  of  water;  two 
white  swans,  their  necks  arched  like  the  capital  let 
ter  S,  floated  about.  At  the  head  of  the  marble 
steps  were  two  vases  filled  with  red  and  yellow 
flowers,  while  at  the  foot  was  moored  a  gondola. 
This  gondola  was  full  of  red  velvet  rugs  that  hung 
over  the  side  and  trailed  in  the  water.  In  the  prow 
of  the  gondola  a  young  man  in  vermilion  tights  held 
a  mandolin  in  his  left  hand,  and  gave  his  right  to  a 
girl  in  white  satin.  A  King  Charles  spaniel,  drag 
ging  a  leading-string  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  pink 
sash,  followed  the  girl.  Seven  scarlet  roses  were 
scattered  upon  the  two  lowest  steps,  and  eight 
floated  in  the  water. 

"  Ain't  that  pretty,  Mac?  "  exclaimed  Trina,  turn 
ing  to  the  dentist.  . 

"  Ma,  ain't  they  go-wun  to  begin  now- wow?  " 
whined  Owgooste.  Suddenly  the  lights  all  over  the 

98 


McTeaguc 

house  blazed  up.  "Ah!"  said  everybody  all  at 
once. 

"  Ain't  ut  crowdut? "  murmured  Mrs.  Sieppe. 
Every  seat  was  taken ;  many  were  even  standing  up. 

"  I  always  like  it  better  when  there  is  a  crowd," 
said  Trina.  She  was  in  great  spirits  that  evening. 
Her  round,  pale  face  was  positively  pink. 

The  orchestra  banged  away  at  the  overture,  sud 
denly  finishing  with  a  great  flourish  of  violins.  A 
short  pause  followed.  Then  the  orchestra  played  a 
quick-step  strain,  and  the  curtain  rose  on  an  interior 
furnished  with  two  red  chairs  and  a  green  sofa.  A 
girl  in  a  short  blue  dress  and  black  stockings  en 
tered  in  a  hurry  and  began  to  dust  the  two  chairs. 
She  was  in  a  great  temper,  talking  very  fast,  dis 
claiming  against  the  "  new  lodger."  It  appeared 
that  this  latter  never  paid  his  rent;  that  he  was  given 
to  late  hours.  Then  she  came  down  to  the  foot 
lights  and  began  to  sing  in  a  tremendous  voice, 
hoarse  and  flat,  almost  like  a  man's.  The  chorus, 
of  a  feeble  originality,  ran: 

"  Oh,  how  happy  I  will  be, 
When  my  darling's  face  I'll  see  ; 
Oh,  tell  him  for  to  meet  me  in  the  moonlight, 
Down  where  the  golden  lilies  bloom." 

The  orchestra  played  the  tune  of  this  chorus  a 
second  time,  with  certain  variations,  while  the  girl 
danced  to  it.  She  sidled  to  one  side  of  the  stage 
and  kicked,  then  sidled  to  the  other  and  kicked 
again.  As  she  finished  with  the  song,  a  man,  evi 
dently  the  lodger  in  question,  came  in.  Instantly 
McTeague  exploded  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Tne 

99 


McTeague 


o 


man  was  intoxicated,  his  hat  was  knocked  in,  one 
end  of  his  collar  was  unfastened  and  stuck  up  into 
his  face,  his  watch-chain  dangled  from  his  pocket, 
and  a  yellow  satin  slipper  was  tied  to  a  button-hole 
of  his  vest;  his  nose  was  vermilion,  one  eye  was 
black  and  blue.  After  a  short  dialogue  with  the  girl, 
a  third  actor  appeared.  He  was  dressed  like  a 
little  boy,  the  girl's  younger  brother.  He  wore  an 
immense  turned-down  collar,  and  was  continually 
doing  hand-springs  and  wonderful  back  somer 
saults.  The  "  act  "  devolved  upon  these  three  peo 
ple;  the  lodger  making  love  to  the  girl  in  the 
short  blue  dress,  the  boy  playing  all  manner  of 
tricks  upon  him,  giving  him  tremendous  digs  in  the 
ribs  or  slaps  upon  the  back  that  made  him  cough, 
pulling  chairs  from  under  him,  running  on  all  fours 
between  his  legs  and  upsetting  him,  knocking  him 
over  at  inopportune  moments.  Every  one  of  his 
falls  was  accentuated  by  a  bang  upon  the  bass  drum. 
The  whole  humor  of  the  "  act  "  seemed  to  consist  in 
the  tripping  up  of  the  intoxicated  lodger. 

This  horse-play  delighted  McTeague  beyond 
measure.  He  roared  and  shouted  every  time  the 
lodger  went  down,  slapping  his  knee,  wagging  his 
head.  Owgooste  crowed  shrilly,  clapping  his 
hands  and  continually  asking,  "  What  did  he  say, 
ma?  What  did  he  say?  "  Mrs.  Sieppe  laughed 
immoderately,  her  huge  fat  body  shaking  like  a 
mountain  of  jelly.  She  exclaimed  from  time  to 
time,  "Ach,  Gott,  dot  fool!"  Even  Trina  was 
moved,  laughing  demurely,  her  lips  closed,  putting 
one  hand  with  its  new  glove  to  her  mouth. 

The  performance   went   on.      Now  it   was   the 

100 


McTeague 

"  musical  marvels,"  two  men  extravagantly  made  up 
as  negro  minstrels,  with  immense  shoes  and  plaid 
vests.  They  seemed  to  be  able  to  wrestle  a  tune 
out  of  almost  anything — glass  bottles,  cigar-box 
fiddles,  strings  of  sleigh-bells,  even  graduated  brass 
tubes,  which  they  rubbed  with  resined  fingers.  Mc 
Teague  was  stupefied  with  admiration. 

"  That's  what  you  call  musicians,"  he  announced 
gravely.  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  played  upon  a 
trombone.  Think  of  that!  Art  could  go  no  far 
ther. 

The  acrobats  left  him  breathless.  They  were  daz 
zling  young  men  with  beautifully  parted  hair,  con 
tinually  making  graceful  gestures  to  the  audience. 
In  one  of  them  the  dentist  fancied  he  saw  a  strong 
resemblance  to  the  boy  who  had  tormented  the  in 
toxicated  lodger  and  who  had  turned  such  marvel 
lous  somersaults.  Trina  could  not  bear  to  watch 
their  antics.  She  turned  away  her  head  with  a  little 
shudder.  "  It  always  makes  me  sick,"  she  explained. 

The  beautiful  young  lady,  "  The  Society  Con 
tralto,"  in  evening  dress,  who  sang  the  sentimental 
songs,  and  carried  the  sheets  of  music  at  which  she 
never  looked,  pleased  McTeague  less.  Trina,  how 
ever,  was  captivated.  She  grew  pensive  over 

"  You  do  not  love  me — no  ; 
Bid  me  good-by  and  go;  " 

and  split  her  new  gloves  in  her  enthusiasm  when 
it  was  finished. 

"Don't  you  love  sad  music,  Mac?"  she  mur 
mured. 

Then  came  the  two  comedians.    They  talked  with 


McTcaguc 

fearful  rapidity;  their  wit  and  repartee  seemed  in 
exhaustible. 

"  As  /  was  going  down  the  street  yesterday " 

"Ah!  as  you  were  going  down  the  street — all 
right." 

"  /  saw  a  girl  at  a  window " 

"  You  saw  a  girl  at  a  window." 

"  And  this  girl  she  was  a  corker " 

"  Ah !  as  you  were  going  down  the  street  yester 
day  you  saw  a  girl  at  a  window,  and  this  girl  she 
was  a  corker.  All  right,  go  on." 

The  other  comedian  went  on.  The  joke  was  sud 
denly  evolved.  A  certain  phrase  led  to  a  song, 
which  was  sung  with  lightning  rapidity,  each  per 
former  making  precisely  the  same  gestures  at  pre 
cisely  the  same  instant.  They  were  irresistible. 
McTeague,  though  he  caught  but  a  third  of  the 
jokes,  could  have  listened  all  night. 

After  the  comedians  had  gone  out,  the  iron  adver 
tisement  curtain  was  let  down. 

"What  comes  now?"  said  McTeague,  bewildered. 

"  It's  the  intermission  of  fifteen  minutes  now." 

The  musicians  disappeared  through  the  rabbit 
hutch,  and  the  audience  stirred  and  stretched  itself. 
Most  of  the  young  men  left  their  seats. 

During  this  intermission  McTeague  and  his  party 
had  "  refreshments."  Mrs.  Sieppe  and  Trina  had 
Queen  Charlottes,  McTeague  drank  a  glass  of  beer, 
Owgooste  ate  the  orange  and  one  of  the  bananas. 
He  begged  for  a  glass  of  lemonade,  which  was  fi 
nally  given  him. 

"  Joost  to  geep  um  quiet,"  observed  Mrs.  Sieppe. 

The  quarter  of  an  hour  intermission  seemed  in- 

102 


McTeaguc 

terminable  to  McTeague.  He  continually  consulted 
his  watch,  wondering  when  the  musicians  would 
come  back,  listening  anxiously  to  the  vague  clamor 
of  footsteps  and  voices  that  issued  confusedly  from 
behind  the  curtain  and  from  the  direction  of  the 
wings.  Mrs.  Sieppe  pretended  to  recognize  a  friend 
two  rows  back  of  where  she  was  sitting. 

"  Ach !  sure  dot's  her,"  she  murmured  continually. 

The  performance  was  resumed.  A  lightning  ar 
tist  appeared,  drawing  caricatures  and  portraits  with 
incredible  swiftness.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  ask 
for  subjects  from  the  audience,  and  the  names  of 
prominent  men  were  shouted  to  him  from  the  gal 
lery.  He  drew  portraits  of  the  President,  of  Grant, 
of  Washington,  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  of  Bis 
marck,  of  Garibaldi,  of  P.  T.  Barnum. 

And  so  the  evening  passed.  The  hall  grew  very 
hot,  and  the  smoke  of  innumerable  cigars  made  the 
eyes  smart.  A  thick  blue  mist  hung  low  over  the 
heads  of  the  audience.  The  air  was  full  of  varied 
smells — the  smell  of  stale  cigars,  of  flat  beer,  of 
orange  peel,  of  gas,  of  sachet  powders,  and  of  cheap 
perfumery. 

One  "  artist  "  after  another  came  upon  the  stage. 
McTeague's  attention  never  wandered  for  a  minute. 
Trina  and  her  mother  enjoyed  themselves  hugely. 
At  every  moment  they  made  comments  to  one  an 
other,  their  eyes  never  leaving  the  stage. 

"  Ain't  dot  fool  joost  too  funny?  " 

"  That's  a  pretty  song.  Don't  you  like  that  kind 
of  a  song?  " 

"  Wonderful!  It's  wonderful!  Yes,  yes,  wonder 
ful!  That's  the  word." 

103 


McTeague 

Owgooste,  however,  lost  interest.  He  stood  up 
in  his  place,  his  back  to  the  stage,  chewing  a  piece 
of  orange  peel  and  watching  a  little  girl  in  her 
father's  lap  across  the  aisle,  his  eyes  fixed  in  a 
glassy,  ox-like  stare.  But  he  was  uneasy.  He 
danced  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and  at  intervals 
appealed  in  hoarse  whispers  to  his  mother,  who  dis 
dained  an  answer. 

"  Ma,  say,  ma-ah,"  he  whined,  abstractedly  chew 
ing  his  orange  peel,  staring  at  the  little  girl. 

*'  Ma-ah,  say,  ma."  At  times  his  monotonous 
plaint  reached  his  mother's  consciousness.  She  sud 
denly  realized  what  this  was  that  was  annoying 
her. 

"  Owgooste,  will  you  sit  down?  "  She  caught  him 
up  all  at  once,  and  jammed  him  down  into  his  place. 
"  Be  quiet,  den;  loog;  listun  at  der  yunge  girls." 

Three  young  women  and  a  young  man  who 
played  a  zither  occupied  the  stage.  They  were 
dressed  in  Tyrolese  costume;  they  were  yodlers, 
and  sang  in  German  about  "  mountain  tops  "  and 
"  bold  hunters  "  and  the  like.  The  yodling  chorus 
was  a  marvel  of  flute-like  modulations.  The  girls 
were  really  pretty,  and  were  not  made  up  in  the 
least.  Their  "  turn  "  had  a  great  success.  Mrs. 
Sieppe  was  entranced.  Instantly  she  remembered 
her  girlhood  and  her  native  Swiss  village. 

"  Ach,  dot  is  heavunly;  joost  like  der  old  country. 
Mein  gran'mutter  used  to  be  one  of  der  mos'  famous 
yodlers.  When  I  was  leedle,  I  haf  seen  dem  joost 
like  dat." 

"  Ma-ah,"  began  Owgooste  fretfully,  as  soon  as 
the  yodlers  had  departed.  He  protested  that  he  was 
104 


McTeague 

sleepy,  as  though  it  was  a  matter  for  which  the  party 
were  indiscriminately  responsible. 

"  Ma-ah,  I  want  to  go  ho-ome." 

"Pehave!"  exclaimed  his  mother,  shaking  him 
by  the  arm ;  "  loog,  der  leedle  girl  is  watchun  you. 
Dis  is  der  last  dime  I  take  you  to  der  blay,  you  see." 

"  I  don't  ca-are;  I'm  sleepy."  At  length,  to  their 
great  relief,  he  went  to  sleep,  his  head  against  his 
mother's  arm. 

The  kinetoscope  fairly  took  their  breaths  away. 

"What  will  they  do  next?"  observed  Trina,  in 
amazement.  "  Ain't  that  wonderful,  Mac?  " 

McTeague  was  awe-struck. 

"  Look  at  that  horse  move  his  head,"  he  cried  ex 
citedly,  quite  carried  away.  "  Look  at  that  cable- 
car  coming — and  the  man  going  across  the  street. 
See,  here  comes  a  truck.  Well,  I  never  in  all  my 
life!  What  would  Marcus  say  to  this?" 

"It's  all  a  drick!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sieppe,  with 
sudden  conviction.  "  I  ain't  no  fool;  dot's  nothun 
but  a  drick." 

"  Well,  of  course,  mamma,"  exclaimed  Trina, 
"  it's " 

But  Mrs.  Sieppe  put  her  head  in  the  air. 

"  I'm  too  old  to  be  fooled,"  she  persisted.  "  It's 
a  drick."  Nothing  more  could  be  got  out  of  her 
than  this. 

The  party  stayed  to  the  very  end  of  the  show, 
though  the  kinetoscope  was  the  last  number  but 
one  on  the  programme,  and  fully  half  the  audience 
left  immediately  afterward.  However,  while  the  un 
fortunate  Irish  comedian  went  through  his  "  act  "  to 
the  backs  of  the  departing  people,  Mrs.  Sieppe  woke 

105 


McTeague 

Owgooste,  very  cross  and  sleepy,  and  began  getting 
her  "  things  together."  McTeague  groped  under 
his  seat,  reaching  about  for  his  hat. 

"  Save  der  brogramme,  Trina,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Sieppe.  "  Take  ut  home  to  popper.  Where  is  der 
net  redicule,  eh?  Haf  you  got  mein  handkerchief, 
Trina?" 

But  McTeague  was  in  distress.  He  had  lost  his 
hat.  What  could  have  become  of  it?  Again  and 
again  he  thrust  his  hand  blindly  underneath  the  seat, 
feeling  about  upon  the  dusty  floor.  His  face  became 
scarlet  with  embarrassment  and  with  the  effort  of 
bending  his  great  body  in  so  contracted  a  space;  he 
bumped  his  head  upon  the  backs  of  the  seats  in  front 
of  him. 

At  length  he  recovered  it  from  a  remote  corner, 
in  company  with  Mrs.  Sieppe's  reticule,  sadly  bat 
tered  by  a  score  of  feet.  He  clapped  it  upon  his 
head  with  a  breath  of  relief.  But  when  he  turned 
about  to  hand  her  reticule  to  Mrs.  Sieppe  he  was 
struck  with  bewilderment.  Neither  Mrs.  Sieppe, 
Trina,  nor  Owgooste  was  anywhere  in  sight.  Mc 
Teague  found  himself  staring  into  the  faces  of  some 
dozen  people  whose  progress  he  was  blocking. 

"  What — where  are  they  gone?  "  muttered  Mc 
Teague. 

He  gazed  about  him  in  great  embarrassment, 
rolling  his  eyes.  But  the  moving  audience  had 
carried  the  Sieppes  farther  down  the  aisle.  At  last 
McTeague  discovered  them  and  crushed  his  way  to 
them  with  bull-like  force  and  directness.  They, 
meanwhile,  sidled  into  an  empty  row  of  seats  to  wait 
for  him. 

106 


McTeague 

The  party  filed  out  at  the  tail  end  of  the  audience. 
Already  the  lights  were  being  extinguished  and  the 
ushers  spreading  druggeting  over  the  upholstered 
seats. 

McTeague  and  the  Sieppes  took  an  uptown  car 
that  would  bring  them  near  Polk  Street.  The  car 
was  crowded;  McTeague  and  Owgooste  were 
obliged  to  stand.  The  little  boy  fretted  to  be  taken 
in  his  mother's  lap,  but  Mrs.  Sieppe  emphatically 
refused. 

On  their  way  home  they  discussed  the  perform 
ance. 

"  I— I  like  best  der  yodlers." 

"  Ah,  the  soloist  was  the  best — the  lady  who  sang 
those  sad  songs." 

"  Wasn't — wasn't  that  magic  lantern  wonderful, 
where  the  figures  moved?  Wonderful — ah,  wonder 
ful  !  And  wasn't  that  first  act  funny,  where  the  fel 
low  fell  down  all  the  time?  And  that  musical  act, 
and  the  fellow  with  the  burnt-cork  face  who  played 
*  Nearer,  My  God  to  Thee  '  on  the  beer  bottles." 

They  got  off  at  Polk  Street  and  walked  up  a  block 
to  the  flat.  The  street  was  dark  and  empty;  op 
posite  the  flat,  in  the  back  of  the  deserted  market, 
the  ducks  and  geese  were  calling  persistently. 

As  they  were  buying  their  tamales  from  the  half- 
breed  Mexican  at  the  street  corner,  McTeague  ob 
served: 

"  Marcus  ain't  gone  to  bed  yet.  See,  there's  a 
light  in  his  window.  There!  "  he  exclaimed  at  once, 
"  I  forgot  the  door-key.  Well,  Marcus  can  let  us 
in." 

Hardly  had  he  rung  the  bell  at  the  street  door  of 
107 


McTeague 

the  flat  when  the  bolt  was  shot  back.  In  the  hall 
at  the  top  of  the  long,  narrow  staircase  there  was  the 
sound  of  a  great  scurrying.  Maria  Macapa  stood 
there,  her  hand  upon  the  rope  that  drew  the  bolt; 
Marcus  was  at  her  side;  Old  Grannis  was  in  the 
background,  looking  over  their  shoulders;  while 
little  Miss  Baker  leant  over  the  banisters,  a  strange 
man  in  a  drab  overcoat  at  her  side.  As  McTeague's 
party  stepped  into  the  doorway  a  half-dozen  voices 
cried: 

"  Yes,  it's  them." 

"Is  that  you,  Mac?" 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Sieppe?  " 

"  Is  your  name  Trina  Sieppe?  " 

Then,  shriller  than  all  the  rest,  Maria  Macapa 
screamed: 

"  Oh,  Miss  Sieppe,  come  up  here  quick.  Your 
lottery  ticket  has  won  five  thousand  dollars!  " 


108 


VII. 

"  What  nonsense!  "  answered  Trina. 

"  Ach  Gott!  What  is  ut?"  cried  Mrs.  Sieppe, 
misunderstanding,  supposing  a  calamity. 

"  What — what — what,"  stammered  the  dentist, 
confused  by  the  lights,  the  crowded  stairway,  the 
medley  of  voices.  The  party  reached  the  landing. 
The  others  surrounded  them.  Marcus  alone  seemed 
to  rise  to  the  occasion. 

"  Le'  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you,"  he 
cried,  catching  Trina's  hand.  Every  one  was  talk 
ing  at  once. 

"  Miss  Sieppe,  Miss  Sieppe,  your  ticket  has  won 
five  thousand  dollars,"  cried  Maria.  "  Don't  you 
remember  the  lottery  ticket  I  sold  you  in  Doctor 
McTeague's  office? " 

"  Trina!  "  almost  screamed  her  mother.  "  Five 
tausend  thalers!  five  tausend  thalers!  If  popper 
were  only  here!  " 

"  What  is  it — what  is  it?  "  exclaimed  McTeague, 
rolling  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it,  Trina?  "  in 
quired  Marcus. 

"  You're  a  rich  woman,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Ba 
ker,  her  little  false  curls  quivering  with  excitement, 
"  and  I'm  glad  for  your  sake.  Let  me  kiss  you.  To 
think  I  was  in  the  room  when  you  bought  the 
ticket!" 

IOQ 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  oh!  "  interrupted  Trina,  shaking  her  head, 
"  there  is  a  mistake.  There  must  be.  Why — why 
should  I  win  five  thousand  dollars?  It's  nonsense!  " 

"  No  mistake,  no  mistake,"  screamed  Maria. 
"  Your  number  was  400,012.  Here  it  is  in  the  paper 
this  evening.  I  remember  it  well,  because  I  keep 
an  account." 

"  But  I  know  you're  wrong,"  answered  Trina,  be 
ginning  to  tremble  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Why  should 
I  win?" 

"  Eh?    Why  shouldn't  you?"  cried  her  mother. 

In  fact,  why  shouldn't  she?  The  idea  suddenly 
occurred  to  Trina.  After  all,  it  was  not  a  question 
of  effort  or  merit  on  her  part.  Why  should  she  sup 
pose  a  mistake?  What  if  it  were  true,  this  wonder 
ful  fillip  of  fortune  striking  in  there  like  some 
chance-driven  bolt? 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so?  "  she  gasped. 

The  stranger  in  the  drab  overcoat  came  forward. 

"  It's  the  agent,"  cried  two  or  three  voices,  simul 
taneously. 

"  I  guess  you're  one  of  the  lucky  ones,  Miss 
Sieppe,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you  have  kept  your 
ticket." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  four  three  oughts  twelve — I  remem 
ber." 

"  That's  right,"  admitted  the  other.  "  Present 
your  ticket  at  the  local  branch  ofHce  as  soon  as  pos 
sible — the  address  is  printed  on  the  back  of  the 
ticket — and  you'll  receive  a  check  on  our  bank  for 
five  thousand  dollars.  Your  number  will  have  to 
be  verified  on  our  official  list,  but  there's  hardly  a 
chance  of  a  mistake.  I  congratulate  you." 

no 


McTcague 

All  at  once  a  great  thrill  of  gladness  surged  up  In 
Trina.  She  was  to  possess  five  thousand  dollars. 
She  was  carried  away  with  the  joy  of  her  good  for 
tune,  a  natural,  spontaneous  joy — the  gaiety  of  a 
child  with  a  new  and  wonderful  toy. 

"  Oh,  I've  won,  I've  won,  I've  won! "  she  cried, 
clapping  her  hands.  "  Mamma,  think  of  it.  I've 
won  five  thousand  dollars,  just  by  buying  a  ticket. 
Mac,  what  do  you  say  to  that?  I've  got  five  thou 
sand  dollars.  August,  do  you  hear  what's  happened 
to  sister?  " 

"  Kiss  your  mommer,  Trina,"  suddenly  com 
manded  Mrs.  Sieppe.  "  What  efer  will  you  do  mit 
all  dose  money,  eh,  Trina?  " 

"  Huh!  "  exclaimed  Marcus.  "  Get  married  on  it 
for  one  thing."  Thereat  they  all  shouted  with  laugh 
ter.  McTeague  grinned,  and  looked  about  sheep 
ishly.  "  Talk  about  luck,"  muttered  Marcus,  shak 
ing  his  head  at  the  dentist;  then  suddenly  he 
added: 

"  Well,  are  we  going  to  stay  talking  out  here  in 
the  hall  all  night?  Can't  we  all  come  into  your 
'  Parlors/  Mac?" 

"  Sure,  sure,"  exclaimed  McTeague,  hastily  un 
locking  his  door. 

"  Efery  botty  gome,"  cried  Mrs.  Sieppe,  genially. 
"  Ain't  ut  so,  Doktor?  " 

"  Everybody,"  repeated  the  dentist.  "  There's — 
there's  some  beer." 

"  We'll  celebrate,  by  damn!  "  exclaimed  Marcus. 

"  It  ain't  every  day  you  win  five  thousand  dollars. 

It's  only  Sundays  and  legal  holidays."     Again  he 

set  the  company  off  into  a  gale  of  laughter.    Any- 

iii 


McTeague 

thing  was  funny  at  a  time  like  this.  In  some  way 
every  one  of  them  felt  elated.  The  wheel  of  fortune 
had  come  spinning  close  to  them.  They  were  near 
to  this  great  sum  of  money.  It  was  as  though  they 
too  had  won. 

"  Here's  right  where  I  sat  when  I  bought  that 
ticket,"  cried  Trina,  after  they  had  come  into  the 
"  Parlors,"  and  Marcus  had  lit  the  gas.  "  Right  here 
in  this  chair."  She  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rigid 
chairs  under  the  steel  engraving.  "  And,  Marcus, 
you  sat  here " 

"  And  I  was  just  getting  out  of  the  operating 
chair,"  interposed  Miss  Baker. 

11  Yes,  yes.  That's  so;  and  you,"  continued  Trina, 
pointing  to  Maria,  "  came  up  and  said,  '  Buy  a 
ticket  in  the  lottery;  just  a  dollar.'  Oh,  I  remember 
it  just  as  plain  as  though  it  was  yesterday,  and  I 
wasn't  going  to  at  first " 

"  And  don't  you  know  I  told  Maria  it  was  against 
the  law?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  and  then  I  gave  her  a  dollar 
and  put  the  ticket  in  my  pocketbook.  It's  in  my 
pocketbook  now  at  home  in  the  top  drawer  of  my 
bureau — oh,  suppose  it  should  be  stolen  now,"  she 
suddenly  exclaimed. 

"  It's  worth  big  money  now,"  asserted  Marcus. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars.  Who  would  have 
thought  it?  It's  wonderful."  Everybody  started 
and  turned.  It  was  McTeagtie.  He  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  wagging  his  huge  head.  He 
seemed  to  have  just  realized  what  had  happened. 

"Yes,  sir,  five  thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed 
Marcus,  with  a  sudden  unaccountable  mirthlessness. 

112 


McTeague 

"  Five  thousand  dollars!  Do  you  get  on  to  that? 
Cousin  Trina  and  you  will  be  rich  people." 

"  At  six  per  cent,  that's  twenty-five  dollars  a 
month/'  hazarded  the  agent. 

"  Think  of  it.  Think  of  it,"  muttered  McTeague. 
He  went  aimlessly  about  the  room,  his  eyes  wide, 
his  enormous  hands  dangling. 

"  A  cousin  of  mine  won  forty  dollars  once," 
observed  Miss  Baker.  "  But  he  spent  every  cent 
of  it  buying  more  tickets,  and  never  won  any 
thing." 

Then  the  reminiscences  began.  Maria  told  about 
the  butcher  on  the  next  block  who  had  won  twenty 
dollars  the  last  drawing.  Mrs.  Sieppe  knew  a  gas- 
fitter  in  Oakland  who  had  won  several  times;  once 
a  hundred  dollars.  Little  Miss  Baker  announced 
that  she  had  always  believed  that  lotteries  were 
wrong;  but,  just  the  same,  five  thousand  was  five 
thousand. 

"  It's  all  right  when  you  win,  ain't  it,  Miss 
Baker?  "  observed  Marcus,  with  a  certain  sarcasm. 
What  was  the  matter  with  Marcus?  At  moments 
he  seemed  singularly  out  of  temper. 

But  the  agent  was  full  of  stories.  He  told  his  ex 
periences,  the  legends  and  myths  that  had  grown 
up  around  the  history  of  the  lottery;  he  told  of  the 
poor  newsboy  with  a  dying  mother  to  support  who 
had  drawn  a  prize  of  fifteen  thousand;  of  the  man 
who  was  driven  to  suicide  through  want,  but  who 
held  (had  he  but  known  it)  the  number  that  two 
days  after  his  death  drew  the  capital  prize  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars;  of  the  little  milliner  who  for  ten 
years  had  played  the  lottery  without  success,  and 
8  113 


McTeague 

who  had  one  day  declared  that  she  would  buy  but 
one  more  ticket  and  then  give  up  trying,  and  of 
how  this  last  ticket  had  brought  her  a  fortune  upon 
which  she  could  retire;  of  tickets  that  had  been  lost 
or  destroyed,  and  whose  numbers  had  won  fabulous 
sums  at  the  drawing;  of  criminals,  driven  to  vice  by 
poverty,  and  who  had  reformed  after  winning  com 
petencies;  of  gamblers  who  played  the  lottery  as 
they  would  play  a  faro  bank,  turning  in  their  win 
nings  again  as  soon  as  made,  buying  thousands  of 
tickets  all  over  the  country;  of  superstitions  as  to 
terminal  and  initial  numbers,  and  as  to  lucky  days 
of  purchase; of  marvellous  coincidences — three  capi 
tal  prizes  drawn  consecutively  by  the  same  town;  a 
ticket  bought  by  a  millionaire  and  given  to  his  boot 
black,  who  won  a  thousand  dollars  upon  it;  the 
same  number  winning  the  same  amount  an  indefi 
nite  number  of  times;  and  so  on  to  infinity.  Invari 
ably  it  was  the  needy  who  won,  the  destitute  and 
starving  woke  to  wealth  and  plenty,  the  virtuous 
toiler  suddenly  found  his  reward  in  a  ticket  bought 
at  a  hazard;  the  lottery  was  a  great  charity, 
the  friend  of  the  people,  a  vast  beneficent  machine 
that  recognized  neither  rank  nor  wealth  nor  sta 
tion. 

The  company  began  to  be  very  gay.  Chairs  and 
tables  were  brought  in  from  the  adjoining  rooms, 
and  Maria  was  sent  out  for  more  beer  and  tamales, 
and  also  commissioned  to  buy  a  bottle  of  wine  and 
some  cake  for  Miss  Baker,  who  abhorred  beer. 

The  "  Dental  Parlors  "  were  in  great  confusion. 
Empty  beer  bottles  stood  on  the  movable  rack 
where  the  instruments  were  kept; plates  and  napkins 
114 


McTeague 

were  upon  the  seat  of  the  operating  chair  and  upon 
the  stand  of  shelves  in  the  corner,  side  by  side  with 
the  concertina  and  the  volumes  of  "  Allen's  Prac 
tical  Dentist."  The  canary  woke  and  chittered 
crossly,  his  feathers  puffed  out;  the  husks  of  tamales 
littered  the  floor;  the  stone  pug  dog  sitting  before 
the  little  stove  stared  at  the  unusual  scene,  his  glass 
eyes  starting  from  their  sockets. 

They  drank  and  feasted  in  impromptu  fashion. 
Marcus  Schouler  assumed  the  office  of  master  of 
ceremonies;  he  was  in  a  lather  of  excitement,  rush 
ing  about  here  and  there,  opening  beer  bottles,  serv 
ing  the  tamales,  slapping  McTeague  upon  the  back, 
laughing  and  joking  continually.  He  made  Mc 
Teague  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  Trina  at 
his  right  and  the  agent  at  his  left;  he — when  he  sat 
down  at  all — occupied  the  foot,  Maria  Macapa  at 
his  left,  while  next  to  her  was  Mrs.  Sieppe,  opposite 
Miss  Baker.  Owgooste  had  been  put  to  bed  upon 
the  bed-lounge. 

"Where's  Old  Grannis?"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Marcus.  Sure  enough,  where  had  the  old  English 
man  gone?  He  had  been  there  at  first. 

"  I  called  him  down  with  everybody  else,"  cried 
Maria  Macapa,  "  as  soon  as  I  saw  in  the  paper  that 
Miss  Sieppe  had  won.  We  all  came  down  to  Mr. 
Schouler's  room  and  waited  for  you  to  come  home. 
I  think  he  must  have  gone  back  to  his  room.  I'll 
bet  you'll  find  him  sewing  up  his  books." 

"  No,  no,"  observed  Miss  Baker,  "  not  at  this 
hour." 

Evidently  the  timid  old  gentleman  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  the  confusion  to  slip  unobtrusively  away. 
"5 


McTeague 

"  I'll  go  bring  him  down,"  shouted  Marcus;  "  he's 
got  to  join  us." 

Miss  Baker  was  in  great  agitation. 

"  I — I  hardly  think  you'd  better,"  she  murmured; 
"  he— he— I  don't  think  he  drinks  beer." 

"  He  takes  his  amusement  in  sewin'  up  books," 
cried  Maria. 

Marcus  brought  him  down,  nevertheless,  having 
found  him  just  preparing  for  bed. 

"  I — I  must  apologize,"  stammered  Old  Grannis, 
as  'he  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  I  had  not  quite  ex 
pected — I — find — find  myseli  a  little  unprepared." 
He  was  without  collar  and  cravat,  owing  to  Marcus 
Schouler's  precipitate  haste.  He  was  annoyed  be 
yond  words  that  Miss  Baker  saw  him  thus.  Could 
anything  be  more  embarrassing? 

Old  Grannis  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Sieppe  and 
to  Trina  as  Marcus's  employer.  They  shook  hands 
solemnly. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  he  an'  Miss  Baker  have  ever 
been  introduced,"  cried  Maria  Macapa,  shrilly,  "  an' 
they've  been  livin'  side  by  side  for  years." 

The  two  old  people  were  speechless,  avoiding 
each  other's  gaze.  It  had  come  at  last;  they  were 
to  know  each  other,  to  talk  together,  to  touch  each 
other's  hands. 

Marcus  brought  Old  Grannis  around  the  table  to 
little  Miss  Baker,  dragging  him  by  the  coat  sleeve, 
exclaiming:  "  Well,  I  thought  you  two  people  knew 
each  other  long  ago.  Miss  Baker,  this  is  Mr.  Gran 
nis;  Mr.  Grannis,  this  is  Miss  Baker."  Neither 
spoke.  Like  two  little  children  they  faced  each 
other,  awkward,  constrained,  tongue-tied  with  em- 

116 


McTeague 

barrassment.  Then  Miss  Baker  put  out  her  hand 
shyly.  Old  Grannis  touched  it  for  an  instant  and  let 
it  fall. 

"  Now  you  know  each  other,"  cried  Marcus,  "and 
it's  about  time."  For  the  first  time  their  eyes  met; 
Old  Grannis  trembled  a  little,  putting  his  hand  un 
certainly  to  his  chin.  Miss  Baker  flushed  ever  so 
slightly,  but  Maria  Macapa  passed  suddenly  be 
tween  them,  carrying  a  half  empty  beer  bottle.  The 
two  old  people  fell  back  from  one  another,  Miss 
Baker  resuming  her  seat. 

"  Here's  a  place  for  you  over  here,  Mr.  Grannis," 
cried  Marcus,  making  room  for  him  at  his  side. 
Old  Grannis  slipped  into  the  chair,  withdrawing  at 
once  from  the  company's  notice.  He  stared  fixedly 
at  his  plate  and  did  not  speak  again.  Old  Miss 
Baker  began  to  talk  volubly  across  the  table  to 
Mrs.  Sieppe  about  hot-house  flowers  and  medicated 
flannels. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  little  impromptu  sup 
per  that  the  engagement  of  Trina  and  the  dentist 
was  announced.  In  a  pause  in  the  chatter  of  con 
versation  Mrs.  Sieppe  leaned  forward  and,  speaking 
to  the  agent,  said: 

"  Veil,  you  know  also  my  daughter  Trina  get 
married  bretty  soon.  She  and  der  dentist,  Doktor 
McTeague,  eh,  yes?  " 

There  was  a  general  exclamation. 

"  I  thought  so  all  along,"  cried  Miss  Baker,  excit 
edly.  "  The  first  time  I  saw  them  together  I  said, 
1  What  a  pair!'" 

"  Delightful!  "  exclaimed  the  agent,  "  to  be  mar 
ried  and  win  a  snug  little  fortune  at  the  same  time." 
117 


McTcaguc 

"  So — So,"  murmured  Old  Grannis,  nodding  at 
his  plate. 

"  Good  luck  to  you,"  cried  Maria. 

"  He's  lucky  enough  already,"  growled  Marcus 
under  his  breath,  relapsing  for  a  moment  into  one 
of  those  strange  moods  of  sullenness  which  had 
marked  him  throughout  the  evening. 

Trina  flushed  crimson,  drawing  shyly  nearer  her 
mother.  McTeague  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  look 
ing  around  from  one  to  another,  exclaiming  "  Huh! 
Huh!" 

But  the  agent  rose  to  his  feet,  a  newly  rilled  beer 
glass  in  his  hand.  He  was  a  man  of  the  world,  this 
agent.  He  knew  life.  He  was  suave  and  easy.  A 
diamond  was  on  his  little  finger. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began.  There  was 
an  instant  silence.  "  This  is  indeed  a  happy. occa 
sion.  I — I  am  glad  to  be  here  to-night;  to  be  a  wit 
ness  to  such  good  fortune;  to  partake  in  these — in 
this  celebration.  Why,  I  feel  almost  as  glad  as  if  I 
had  held  four  three  oughts  twelve  myself;  as  if  the 
five  thousand  were  mine  instead  of  belonging  to 
our  charming  hostess.  The  good  wishes  of  my 
humble  self  go  out  to  Miss  Sieppe  in  this  moment 
of  her  good  fortune,  and  I  think — in  fact,  I  am  sure 
I  can  speak  for  the  great  institution,  the  great  com 
pany  I  represent.  The  company  congratulates 
Miss  Sieppe.  We — they — ah —  They  wish  her 
every  happiness  her  new  fortune  can  procure  her. 
It  has  been  my  duty,  my — ah — cheerful  duty  to  call 
upon  the  winners  of  large  prizes  and  to  offer  the 
felicitation  of  the  company.  I  have,  in  my  experi 
ence,  called  upon  many  such ;  but  never  have  I  seen 
118 


McTeague 

fortune  so  happily  bestowed  as  in  this  case.  The 
company  have  dowered  the  prospective  bride.  I 
am  sure  I  but  echo  the  sentiments  of  this  assembly 
when  I  wish  all  joy  and  happiness  to  this  happy 
pair,  happy  in  the  possession  of  a  snug  little  fortune, 
and  happy — happy  in —  "  he  finished  with  a  sudden 
inspiration — "  in  the  possession  of  each  other;  I 
drink  to  the  health,  wealth,  and  happiness  of  the 
future  bride  and  groom.  Let  us  drink  standing 
up/'  They  drank  with  enthusiasm.  Marcus  was 
carried  away  with  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 

"  Outa  sight,  outa  sight,"  he  vociferated,  clapping 
his  hands.  "  Very  well  said.  To  the  health  of  the 
bride.  McTeague,  McTeague,  speech,  speech!  " 

In  an  instant  the  whole  table  was  clamoring  for 
the  dentist  to  speak.  McTeague  was  terrified;  he 
gripped  die  table  with  both  hands,  looking  wildly 
about  him. 

"Speech,  speech!"  shouted  Marcus,  running 
around  the  table  and  endeavoring  to  drag  Mc 
Teague  up. 

"  No — no — no,"  muttered  the  other.  "  No 
speech."  The  company  rattled  upon  the  table  with 
their  beer  glasses,  insisting  upon  a  speech.  Mc 
Teague  settled  obstinately  into  his  chair,  very  red  in 
the  face,  shaking  his  head  energetically. 

"  Ah,  go  on!  "  he  exclaimed;  "  no  speech." 

"  Ah,  get  up  and  say  somethun,  anyhow,"  per 
sisted  Marcus;  "  you  ought  to  do  it.  It's  the  proper 
caper." 

McTeague  heaved  himself  up;  there  was  a  burst 
of  applause;  he  looked  slowly  about  him,  then  sud 
denly  sat  down  again,  shaking  his  head  hopelessly. 
119 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Mac,"  cried  Trina. 

"  Get  up,  say  somethun,  anyhow,"  cried  Marcus, 
tugging  at  his  arm;  "  you  got  to." 

Once  more  McTeague  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Huh!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  steadily  at  the 
table.  Then  he  began: 

"  I  don'  know  what  to  say — I — I — I  ain't  never 
made  a  speech  before;  I — I  ain't  never  made  a 
speech  before.  But  I'm  glad  Trina's  won  the 
prize— 

"  Yes,  I'll  bet  you  are,"  muttered  Marcus. 

"  I — I — I'm  glad  Trina's  won,  and  I — I  want  to 
— I  want  to — I  want  to — want  to  say  that — you're — 
all — welcome,  an'  drink  hearty,  an'  I'm  much 
obliged  to  the  agent.  Trina  and  I  are  goin'  to  be 
married,  an'  I'm  glad  everybody's  here  to-night,  an' 
you're — all — welcome,  an'  drink  hearty,  an'  I  hope 
you'll  come  again,  an'  you're  always  welcome — 
an' — I- — an' — an' —  That's — about — all — I — gotta 
say."  He  sat  down,  wiping  his  forehead,  amidst 
tremendous  applause. 

Soon  after  that  the  company  pushed  back  from 
the  table  and  relaxed  into  couples  and  groups.  The 
men,  with  the  exception  of  Old  Grannis,  began  to 
smoke,  the  smell  of  their  tobacco  mingling  with  the 
odors  of  ether,  creosote,  and  stale  bedding,  which 
pervaded  the  "  Parlors."  Soon  the  windows  had 
to  be  lowered  from  the  top.  Mrs.  Sieppe  and  old 
Miss  Baker  sat  together  in  the  bay  window  ex 
changing  confidences.  Miss  Baker  had  turned 
back  the  overskirt  of  her  dress;  a  plate  of  cake  was 
in  her  lap;  from  time  to  time  she  sipped  her  wine 
with  the  delicacy  of  a  white  cat.  The  two  women 

120 


McTeague 

were  much  interested  in  each  other.  Miss  Baker 
told  Mrs.  Sieppe  all  about  Old  Grannis,  not 
forgetting  trje  fiction  of  the  title  and  the  unjust 
stepfather. 

"  He's  quite  a  personage  really,"  said  Miss  Baker. 

Mrs.  Sieppe  led  the  conversation  around  to  her 
children.  "  Ach,  Trina  is  sudge  a  goote  girl,"  she 
said;  "always  gay,  yes,  und  sing  from  morgen  to 
night.  Und  Owgooste,  he  is  soh  smart  also,  yes, 
eh?  He  has  der  genius  for  machines,  always 
making  scmethun  mit  wheels  und  sbrings." 

"  Ah,  if — if — I  had  children,"  murmured  the  little 
old  maid  a  trifle  wistfully,  "  one  would  have  been  a 
sailor;  he  would  have  begun  as  a  midshipman  on 
my  brother's  ship;  in  time  he  would  have  been  an 
officer.  The  other  would  have  been  a  landscape 
gardener." 

"Oh,  Mac!"  exclaimed  Trina,  looking  up  into 
the  dentist's  face,  "  think  of  all  this  money  coming 
to  us  just  at  this  very  moment.  Isn't  it  wonderful? 
Don't  it  kind  of  scare  you?  " 

"  Wonderful,  wonderful !  "  muttered  McTeague, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Let's  buy  a  lot  of  tickets,"  he 
added,  struck  with  an  idea. 

"  Now,  that's  how  you  can  always  tell  a  good 
cigar,"  observed  the  agent  to  Marcus  as  the  two  sat 
smoking  at  the  end  of  the  table.  "  The  light  end 
should  be  rolled  to  a  point." 

"'  Ah,  the  Chinese  cigar-makers,"  cried  Marcus, 
in  a  passion,  brandishing  his  fist.  "  It's  them  as  is 
ruining  the  cause  of  white  labor.  They  are,  they 
are  for  a  fact.  Ah,  the  rat-eaters!  Ah,  the  white- 
livered  curs! " 


121 


McTeague 

Over  in  the  corner,  by  the  stand  of  shelves,  Old 
Grannis  was  listening  to  Maria  Macapa.  The 
Mexican  woman  had  been  violently  stirred  over 
Trina's  sudden  wealth;  Maria's  mind  had  gone  back 
to  her  younger  days.  She  leaned  forward,  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  her  chin  in  her  hands,  her  eyes 
wide  and  fixed.  Old  Grannis  listened  to  her  at 
tentively. 

"  There  wa'n't  a  piece  that  was  so  much  as 
scratched,"  Maria  was  saying.  "  Every  piece  was 
just  like  a  mirror,  smooth  and  bright;  oh,  bright  as 
a  little  sun.  Such  a  service  as  that  was — platters 
and  soup  tureens  and  an  immense  big  punch-bowL 
Five  thousand  dollars,  what  does  that  amount  to? 
Why,  that  punch-bowl  alone  was  worth  a  fortune." 

"  What  a  wonderful  story!  "  exclaimed  Old  Gran 
nis,  never  for  an  instant  doubting  its  truth.  "  And 
it's  all  lost  now,  you  say?  " 

"  Lost,  lost,"  repeated  Maria. 

"  Tut,  tut!     What  a  pity!     What  a  pity!  " 

Suddenly  the  agent  rose  and  broke  out  with : 

"  Well,  /  must  be  going,  if  I'm  to  get  any  car." 

He  shook  hands  with  everybody,  offered  a  part 
ing  cigar  to  Marcus,  congratulated  McTeague  and 
Trina  a  last  time,  and  bowed  himself  out. 

"  What  an  elegant  gentleman,"  commented  Miss 
Baker. 

"  Ah,"  said  Marcus,  nodding  his  head,  "  there's 
a  man  of  the  world  for  you.  Right  on  to  himself,  by 
damn!" 

The  company  broke  up. 

"Come  along,  Mac,"  cried  Marcus;  "we're  to 
sleep  with  the  dogs  to-night,  you  know." 

122 


McTeague 

The  two  friends  said  "  Good-night "  all  around 
and  departed  for  the  little  dog  hospital. 

Old  Grannis  hurried  to  his  room  furtively,  terri 
fied  lest  he  should  again  be  brought  face  to  face 
with  Miss  Baker.  He  bolted  himself  in  and  listened 
until  he  heard  her  foot  in  the  hall  and  the  soft  clos 
ing  of  her  door.  She  was  there  close  beside  him; 
as  one  might  say,  in  the  same  room;  for  he,  too,  had 
made  the  discovery  as  to  the  similarity  of  the  wall 
paper.  At  long  intervals  he  could  hear  a  faint 
rustling  as  she  moved  about.  What  an  evening 
that  had  been  for  him!  He  had  met  her,  had  spoken 
to  her,  had  touched  her  hand;  he  was  in  a  tremor  of 
excitement.  In  a  like  manner  the  little  old  dress 
maker  listened  and  quivered.  He  was  there  in  that 
same  room  which  they  shared  in  common,  separated 
only  by  the  thinnest  board  partition.  He  was  think 
ing  of  her,  she  was  almost  sure  of  it.  They  were 
strangers  no  longer;  they  were  acquaintances, 
friends.  What  an  event  that  evening  had  been  in 
their  lives! 

Late  as  it  was,  Miss  Baker  brewed  a  cup  of  tea 
and  sat  down  in  her  rocking  chair  close  to  the  par 
tition;  she  rocked  gently,  sipping  her  tea,  calming 
herself  after  the  emotions  of  that  wonderful  evening. 

Old  Grannis  heard  the  clinking  of  the  tea  things 
and  smelt  the  faint  odor  of  the  tea.  It  seemed  to 
him  a  signal,  an  invitation.  He  drew  his  chair  close 
to  his  side  of  the  partition,  before  his  work-table. 
A  pile  of  half-bound  "  Nations  "  was  in  the  little 
binding  apparatus;  he  threaded  his  huge  uphol 
sterer's  needle  with  stout  twine  and  set  to  work. 

It  was  their  tete-ct-tete.  Instinctively  they  felt 
123 


McTeague 

each  other's  presence,  felt  each  other's  thought  com 
ing  to  them  through  the  thin  partition.  It  was 
charming;  they  were  perfectly  happy.  There  in  the 
stillness  that  settled  over  the  flat  in  the  half  hour 
after  midnight  the  two  old  people  "  kept  company," 
enjoying  after  their  fashion  their  little  romance  that 
had  come  so  late  into  the  lives  of  each. 

On  the  way  to  her  room  in  the  garret  Maria  Ma- 
capa  paused  under  the  single  gas-jet  that  burned 
at  the  top  of  the  well  of  the  staircase;  she  assured 
herself  that  she  was  alone,  and  then  drew  from  her 
pocket  one  of  McTeague's  "  tapes "  of  non-co 
hesive  gold.  It  was  the  most  valuable  steal  she  had 
ever  yet  made  in  the  dentist's  "  Parlors."  She  told 
herself  that  it  was  worth  at  least  a  couple  of  dollars. 
Suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  her,  and  she  went 
hastily  to  a  window  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and, 
shading  her  face  with  both  hands,  looked  down  into 
the  little  alley  just  back  of  the  flat.  On  some  nights 
Zerkow,  the  red-headed  Polish  Jew,  sat  up  late, 
taking  account  of  the  week's  rag-picking.  There 
was  a  dim  light  in  his  window  now. 

Maria  went  to  her  room,  threw  a  shawl  around  her 
head,  and  descended  into  the  little  back  yard  of  the 
flat  by  the  back  stairs.  As  she  let  herself  out  of 
the  back  gate  into  the  alley,  Alexander,  Marcus's 
Irish  setter,  woke  suddenly  with  a  gruff  bark.  The 
collie  who  lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  in  the 
back  yard  of  the  branch  post-office,  answered  with 
a  snarl.  Then  in  an  instant  the  endless  feud  be 
tween  the  two  dogs  was  resumed.  They  dragged 
their  respective  kennels  to  the  fence,  and  through 
the  cracks  raged  at  each  other  in  a  frenzy  of  hate; 
124 


McTeague 

their  teeth  snapped  and  gleamed;  the  hackles  on 
their  backs  rose  and  stiffened.  Their  hideous  clamor 
could  have  been  heard  for  blocks  around.  What  a 
massacre  should  the  two  ever  meet ! 

Meanwhile,  Maria  was  knocking  at  Zerkow's  mis 
erable  hovel. 

"  Who  is  it?  Who  is  it?"  cried  the  rag-picker 
from  within,  in  his  hoarse  voice,  that  was  half  whis 
per,  starting  nervously,  and  sweeping  a  handful  of 
silver  into  his  drawer. 

"  It's  me,  Maria  Macapa;  "  then  in  a  lower  voice, 
and  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  "  had  a  flying  squirrel 
an'  let  him  go." 

"  Ah,  Maria,"  cried  Zerkow,  obsequiously  open 
ing  the  door.  "  Come  in,  come  in,  my  girl;  you're 
always  welcome,  even  as  late  as  this.  No  junk, 
hey?  But  you're  welcome  for  all  that.  You'll  have 
a  drink,  won't  you?"  He  led  her  into  his  back  room 
and  got  down  the  whiskey  bottle  and  the  broken 
red  tumbler. 

After  the  two  had  drunk  together  Maria  pro 
duced  the  gold  "  tape."  Zerkow's  eyes  glittered 
on  the  instant.  The  sight  of  gold  invariably  sent 
a  qualm  all  through  him;  try  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  repress  it.  His  fingers  trembled  and  clawed  at 
his  mouth;  his  breath  grew  short. 

"  Ah,  ah,  ah!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  give  it  here,  give 
it  here;  give  it  to  me,  Maria.  That's  a  good  girl, 
come  give  it  to  me." 

They  haggled  as  usual  over  the  price,  but  to-night 
Maria  was  too  excited  over  other  matters  to  spend 
much  time  in  bickering  over  a  few  cents. 

"  Look  here,  Zerkow,"  she  said  as  soon  as  the 
125 


McTeague 

transfer  was  made,  "  I  got  something  to  tell  you. 
A  little  while  ago  I  sold  a  lottery  ticket  to  a 
girl  at  the  flat;  the  drawing  was  in  this  evening's 
papers.  How  much  do  you  suppose  that  girl  has 
won?" 

"  I  don't  know.     How  much?     How  much?  " 

"  Five  thousand  dollars." 

It  was  as  though  a  knife  had  been  run  through 
the  Jew;  a  spasm  of  an  almost  physical  pain  twisted 
his  face — his  entire  body.  He  raised  his  clenched 
fists  into  the  air,  his  eyes  shut,  his  teeth  gnawing 
his  lip. 

"Five  thousand  dollars,"  he  whispered;  "five 
thousand  dollars.  For  what?  For  nothing, for  simply 
buying  a  ticket;  and  I  have  worked  so  hard  for  it, 
so  hard,  so  hard.  Five  thousand  dollars,  five  thou 
sand  dollars.  Oh,  why  couldn't  it  have  come  to  me?" 
he  cried,  his  voice  choking,  the  tears  starting  to 
his  eyes;  "  why  couldn't  it  have  come  to  me?  To 
come  so  close,  so  close,  and  yet  to  miss  me — me  who 
^iave  worked  for  it,  fought  for  it,  starved  for  it,  am 
dying  for  it  every  day.  Think  of  it,  Maria,  five  thou 
sand  dollars,  all  bright,  heavy  pieces " 

"  Bright  as  a  sunset,"  interrupted  Maria,  her  chin 
propped  on  her  hands.  "  Such  a  glory,  and  heavy. 
Yes,  every  piece  was  heavy,  and  it  was  all  you  could 
do  to  lift  the  punch-bowl.  Why,  that  punch-bowl' 
was  worth  a  fortune  alone " 

"  And  it  rang  when  you  hit  it  with  your  knuckles, 
didn't  it?"  prompted  Zerkow,  eagerly,  his  lips 
trembling,  his  fingers  hooking  themselves  into 
claws. 

"  Sweeter'n  any  church  bell,"  continued  Maria. 
126 


McTeague 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  go  on,"  cried  Zerkow,  drawing 
his  chair  closer,  and  shutting  his  eyes  in  ecstasy. 

"  There  were  more  than  a  hundred  pieces,  and 
every  one  of  them  gold " 

"  Ah,  every  one  of  them  gold." 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  sight  when  the 
leather  trunk  was  opened.  There  wa'n't  a  piece 
that  was  so  much  as  scratched;  every  one  was  like 
a  mirror,  smooth  and  bright,  polished  so  that  it 
looked  black — you  know  how  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  cried  Zerkow,  moistening 
his  lips. 

Then  he  plied  her  with  questions — questions  that 
covered  every  detail  of  that  service  of  plate.  It  was 
soft,  wasn't  it?  You  could  bite  into  a  plate  and 
leave  a  dent?  The  handles  of  the  knives,  now,  were 
they  gold  too?  All  the  knife  was  made  from  one 
piece  of  gold,  was  it?  And  the  forks  the  same?  The 
interior  of  the  trunk  was  quilted,  of  course?  Did 
Maria  ever  polish  the  plates  herself?  When  the 
company  ate  off  this  service,  it  must  have  made  a 
fine  noise — these  gold  knives  and  forks  clinking 
together  upon  these  gold  plates. 

"  Now,  let's  have  it  all  over  again,  Maria," 
pleaded  Zerkow.  "  Begin  now  with  '  There  were 
more  than  a  hundred  pieces,  and  every  one  of  them 
gold.'  Go  on,  begin,  begin,  begin!  " 

The  red-headed  Pole  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 
Maria's  recital  had  become  a  veritable  mania  with 
him.  As  he  listened,  with  closed  eyes  and  trembling 
lips,  he  fancied  he  could  see  that  wonderful  plate 
before  him,  there  on  the  table,  under  his  eyes,  under 
his  hand,  ponderous,  massive,  gleaming.  He  tor- 
127 


McTeague 

mented  Maria  into  a  second  repetition  of  the  story — 
into  a  third.  The  more  his  mind  dwelt  upon  it,  the 
sharper  grew  his  desire.  Then,  with  Maria's  re 
fusal  to  continue  the  tale,  came  the  reaction.  Zer- 
kow  awoke  as  from  some  ravishing  dream.  The 
plate  was  gone,  was  irretrievably  lost.  There  was 
nothing  in  that  miserable  room  but  grimy  rags  and 
rust-corroded  iron.  What  torment!  what  agony!  to 
be  so  near — so  near,  to  see  it  in  one's  distorted  fancy 
as  plain  as  in  a  mirror.  To  know  every  individual 
piece  as  an  old  friend; to  feel  its  weight; to  be  dazzled 
by  its  glitter;  to  call  it  one's  own,  own;  to  have  it  to 
oneself,  hugged  to  the  breast;  and  then  to  start,  to 
wake,  to  come  down  to  the  horrible  reality. 

"And  you, 'you  had  it  once,"  gasped  Zerkow, 
clawing  at  her  arm;  "  you  had  it  once,  all  your  own. 
Think  of  it,  and  now  it's  gone." 

"  Gone  for  good  and  all." 

"  Perhaps  it's  buried  near  your  old  place  some 
where." 

"  It's  gone — gone — gone,"  chanted  Maria  in  a 
monotone. 

Zerkow  dug  his  nails  into  his  scalp,  tearing  at 
his  red  hair. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it's  gone,  it's  gone — lost  forever!  Lost 
forever!" 

Marcus  and  the  dentist  walked  up  the  silent  street 
and  reached  the  little  dog  hospital.  They  had 
hardly  spoken  on  the  way.  McTeague's  brain  was 
in  a  whirl;  speech  failed  him.  He  was  busy  think 
ing  of  the  great  thing  that  had  happened  that  night, 
and  was  trying  to  realize  what  its  effect  would  be 
128 


McTeague 

upon  his  life — his  life  and  Trina's.  As  soon 
as  they  had  found  themselves  in  the  street,  Marcus 
had  relapsed  at  once  to  a  sullen  silence,  which  Mc 
Teague  was  too  abstracted  to  notice. 

They  entered  the  tiny  office  of  the  hospital  with 
its  red  carpet,  its  gas  stove,  and  its  colored  prints  of 
famous  dogs  hanging  against  the  walls.  In  one 
corner  stood  the  iron  bed  which  they  were  to 
occupy. 

"  You  go  on  an'  get  to  bed,  Mac,"  observed  Mar 
cus.  "  I'll  take  a  look  at  the  dogs  before  I  turn  in." 

He  went  outside  and  passed  along  into  the  yard, 
that  was  bounded  on  three  sides  by  pens  where  the 
dogs  were  kept.  A  bull  terrier  dying  of  gastritis 
recognized  him  and  began  to  whimper  feebly. 

Marcus  paid  no  attention  to  the  dogs.  For  the 
first  time  that  evening  he  was  alone  and  could  give 
vent  to  his  thoughts.  He  took  a  couple  of  turns 
up  and  down  the  yard,  then  suddenly  in  a  low  voice 
exclaimed: 

"  You  fool,  you  fool,  Marcus  Schouler!  If  you'd 
kept  Trina  you'd  have  had  that  money.  You  might 
have  had  it  yourself.  You've  thrown  away  your 
chance  in  life — to  give  up  the  girl,  yes — but  this," 
he  stamped  his  foot  with  rage — "  to  throw  five  thou 
sand  dollars  out  of  the  window — to  stuff  it  into  the 
pockets  of  someone  else,  when  it  might  have  been 
yours,  when  you  might  have  had  Trina  and  the 
money — and  all  for  what?  Because  we  were  pals. 
Oh,  '  pals  '  is  all  right — but  five  thousand  dollars — 
to  have  played  it  right  into  his  hands — God  damn 
the  luck!" 


129 


VIII. 

The  next  two  months  were  delightful.  Trina  and 
McTeague  saw  each  other  regularly,  three  times  a 
week.  The  dentist  went  over  to  B  Street  Sunday 
and  Wednesday  afternoons  as  usual;  but  on  Fridays 
it  was  Trina  who  came  to  the  city.  She  spent  the 
morning  between  nine  and  twelve  o'clock  down 
town,  for  the  most  part  in  the  cheap  department 
stores,  doing  the  weekly  shopping  for  herself  and 
the  family.  At  noon  she  took  an  uptown  car  and 
met  McTeague  at  the  corner  of  Polk  Street.  The 
two  lunched  together  at  a  small  uptown  hotel  just 
around  the  corner  on  Sutter  Street.  They  were 
given  a  little  room  to  themselves.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  delicious.  They  had  but  to  close 
the  sliding  door  to  shut  themselves  off  from  the 
whole  world. 

Trina  would  arrive  breathless  from  her  raids  upon 
the  bargain  counters,  her  pale  cheeks  flushed,  her 
hair  blown  about  her  face  and  into  the  corners  of 
her  lips,  her  mother's  net  reticule  stuffed  to  burst 
ing.  Once  in  their  tiny  private  room,  she  would 
drop  into  her  chair  with  a  little  groan. 

"  Oh,  Mac,  I  am  so  tired;  I've  just  been  all  over 
town.  Oh,  it's  good  to  sit  down.  Just  think,  I  had 
to  stand  up  in  the  car  all  the  way,  after  being  on  my 
feet  the  whole  blessed  morning.  Look  here  what 
I've  bought.  Just  things  and  things.  Look, 
130 


McTeague 

there's  some  dotted  veiling  I  got  for  myself;  see 
now,  do  you  think  it  looks  pretty?" — she  spread  it 
over  her  face — "  and  I  got  a  box  of  writing  paper, 
and  a  roll  of  crepe  paper  to  make  a  lamp  shade  for 
the  front  parlor;  and — what  do  you  suppose — I  saw 
a  pair  of  Nottingham  lace  curtains  for  forty-nine 
cents;  isn't  that  cheap?  and  some  chenille  portieres 
for  two  and  a  half.  Now  what  have  you  been  doing 
since  I  last  saw  you?  Did  Mr.  Heise  finally  get  up 
enough  courage  to  have  his  tooth  pulled  yet? " 
Trina  took  off  her  hat  and  veil  and  rearranged  her 
hair  before  the  looking-glass. 

"  No,  no — not  yet.  I  went  down  to  the  sign 
painter's  yesterday  afternoon  to  see  about  that  big 
gold  tooth  for  a  sign.  It  costs  too  much;  I  can't 
get  it  yet  a  while.  There's  two  kinds,  one  German 
gilt  and  the  other  French  gilt;  but  the  German  gilt 
is  no  good." 

McTeague  sighed,  and  wagged  his  head.  Even 
Trina  and  the  five  thousand  dollars  could  not  make 
him  forget  this  one  unsatisfied  longing. 

At  other  times  they  would  talk  at  length  over 
their  plans,  while  Trina  sipped  her  chocolate  and 
McTeague  devoured  huge  chunks  of  butterless 
bread.  They  were  to  be  married  at  the  end  of  May, 
and  the  dentist  already  had  his  eye  on  a  couple  of 
rooms,  part  of  the  suite  of  a  bankrupt  photographer. 
They  were  situated  in  the  flat,  just  back  of  his 
"  Parlors,"  and  he  believed  the  photographer  would 
sublet  them  furnished. 

McTeague  and  Trina  had  no  apprehensions  as  to 
their  finances.  They  could  be  sure,  in  fact,  of  a  tidy 
little  income.  The  dentist's  practice  was  fairly 
131 


McTeague 

good,  and  they  could  count  upon  the  interest  of 
Trina's  five  thousand  dollars.  To  McTeague's 
mind  this  interest  seemed  wofully  small.  He  had 
had  uncertain  ideas  about  that  five  thousand  dol 
lars;  had  imagined  that  they  would  spend  it  in  some 
lavish  fashion;  would  buy  a  house, perhaps, or  would 
furnish  their  new  rooms  with  overwhelming  luxury 
— luxury  that  implied  red  velvet  carpets  and  con 
tinued  feasting.  The  old-time  miner's  idea  of 
wealth  easily  gained  and  quickly  spent  persisted  in 
his  mind.  But  when  Trina  had  begun  to  talk  of 
investments  and  interests  and  per  cents,  he  was 
troubled  and  not  a  little  disappointed.  The  lump 
sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  was  one  thing,  a  mis 
erable  little  twenty  or  twenty-five  a  month  was  quite 
another;  and  then  someone  else  had  the  money. 

"  But  don't  you  see,  Mac,"  explained  Trina,  "  it's 
ours  just  the  same.  We  could  get  it  back  when 
ever  we  wanted  it;  and  then  it's  the  reasonable  way 
to  do.  We  mustn't  let  it  turn  our  heads,  Mac,  dear, 
like  that  man  that  spent  all  he  won  in  buying  more 
tickets.  How  foolish  we'd  feel  after  we'd  spent  it  all! 
We  ought  to  go  on  just  the  same  as  before;  as  if  we 
hadn't  won.  Wre  must  be  sensible  about  it,  mustn't 
we?" 

"  Well,  well,  I  guess  perhaps  that's  right,"  the 
dentist  would  answer,  looking  slowly  about  on  the 
floor. 

Just  what  should  ultimately  be  done  with  the 
money  was  the  subject  of  endless  discussion  in  the 
Sieppe  family.  The  savings  bank  would  allow  only 
three  per  cent.,  but  Trina's  parents  believed  that 
something  better  could  be  got. 
132 


McTcague 

"  There's  Uncle  Oelbermann,"  Trina  had  sug 
gested,  remembering  the  rich  relative  who  had  the 
wholesale  toy  store  in  the  Mission. 

Mr.  Sieppe  struck  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  Ah, 
an  idea,"  he  cried.  In  the  end  an  agreement  was 
made.  The  money  was  invested  in  Mr.  Oelber- 
mann's  business.  He  gave  Trina  six  per  cent. 

Invested  in  this  fashion,  Trina's  winning  would 
bring  in  twenty-five  dollars  a  month.  But,  besides 
this,  Trina  had  her  own  little  trade.  She  made 
Noah's  ark  animals  for  Uncle  Oelbermann's  store. 
Trina's  ancestors  on  both  sides  were  German-Swiss, 
and  some  long-forgotten  forefather  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  some  worsted-leggined  wood-carver  of  the 
Tyrol, had  handed  down  the  talent  of  the  national  in 
dustry,  to  reappear  in  this  strangely  distorted  guise. 

She  made  Noah's  ark  animals,  whittling  them  out 
of  a  block  of  soft  wood  with  a  sharp  jack-knife,  the 
only  instrument  she  used.  Trina  was  very  proud 
to  explain  her  work  to  McTeague  as  he  had  already 
explained  his  own  to  her. 

"  You  see,  I  take  a  block  of  straight-grained 
pine  and  cut  out  the  shape,  roughly  at  first,  with  the 
big  blade;  then  I  go  over  it  a  second  time  with  the 
little  blade,  more  carefully;  then  I  put  in  the  ears 
and  tail  with  a  drop  of  glue,  and  paint  it  with  a 
'  non-poisonous  '  paint — Vandyke  brown  for  the 
horses,  foxes,  and  cows;  slate  gray  for  the  elephants 
and  camels;  burnt  umber  for  the  chickens,  zebras, 
and  so  on;  then,  last,  a  dot  of  Chinese  white  for  the 
eyes,  and  there  you  are,  all  finished.  They  sell  for 
nine  cents  a  dozen.  Only  I  can't  make  the  mani 
kins." 

133 


McTeague 

"The  manikins?" 

"  The  little  figures,  you  know — Noah  and  his 
wife,  and  Shem,  and  all  the  others." 

It  was  true.  Trina  could  not  whittle  them  fast 
enough  and  cheap  enough  to  compete  with  the 
turning  lathe,  that  could  throw  off  whole  tribes  and 
peoples  of  manikins  while  she  was  fashioning  one 
family.  Everything  else,  however,  she  made — the 
ark  itself,  all  windows  and  no  door;  the  box  in  which 
the  whole  was  packed;  even  down  to  pasting  on  the 
label,  which  read,  "  Made  in  France."  She  earned 
from  three  to  four  dollars  a  week. 

The  income  from  these  three  sources,  Mc- 
Teague's  profession,  the  interest  of  the  five  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  Trina's  whittling,  made  a  respecta 
ble  little  sum  taken  altogether.  Trina  declared 
they  could  even  lay  by  something,  adding  to  the 
five  thousand  dollars  little  by  little. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  Trina  would  be  an 
extraordinarily  good  housekeeper.  Economy  was 
her  strong  point.  A  good  deal  of  peasant  blood  still 
ran  undiluted  in  her  veins,  and  she  had  all  the  in 
stinct  of  a  hardy  and  penurious  mountain  race — 
the  instinct  which  saves  without  any  thought,  with 
out  idea  of  consequence — saving  for  the  sake  of 
saving,  hoarding  without  knowing  why.  Even 
McTeague  did  not  know  how  closely  Trina  held 
to  her  new-found  wealth. 

But  they  did  not  always  pass  their  luncheon  hour 
in  this  discussion  of  incomes  and  economies.  As 
the  dentist  came  to  know  his  little  woman  better  she 
grew  to  be  more  and  more  of  a  puzzle  and  a  joy  to 
him.  She  would  suddenly  interrupt  a  grave  dis- 
134 


McTeague 

course  upon  the  rents  of  rooms  and  the  cost  of  light 
and  fuel  with  a  brusque  outburst  of  affection  that 
set  him  all  a-tremble  with  delight.  All  at  once  she 
would  set  down  her  chocolate,  and,  leaning  across 
the  narrow  table,  would  exclaim: 

"  Never  mind  all  that!  Oh,  Mac,  do  you  truly, 
really  love  me — love  me  big  ?  " 

McTeague  would  stammer  something,  gasping, 
and  wagging  his  head,  beside  himself  for  the  lack 
of  words. 

"  Old  bear,"  Trina  would  answer,  grasping  him 
by  both  huge  ears  and  swaying  his  head  from  side 
to  side.  "  Kiss  me,  then.  Tell  me,  Mac,  did  you 
think  any  less  of  me  that  first  time  I  let  you  kiss 
me  there  in  the  station?  Oh,  Mac,  dear,  what  a 
funny  nose  you've  got,  all  full  of  hairs  inside;  and, 
Mac,  do  you  know  you've  got  a  bald  spot—"  she 
dragged  his  head  down  towards  her — "  right  on 
the  top  of  your  head."  Then  she  would  seriously 
kiss  the  bald  spot  in  question,  declaring: 

"  That'll  make  the  hair  grow." 

Trina  took  an  infinite  enjoyment  in  playing  with 
McTeague's  great  square-cut  head,  rumpling  his 
hair  till  it  stood  on  end,  putting  her  fingers  in  his 
eyes,  or  stretching  his  ears  out  straight,  and  watch 
ing  the  effect  with  her  head  on  one  side.  It  was  like 
a  little  child  playing  with  some  gigantic,  good- 
natured  Saint  Bernard. 

One  particular  amusement  they  never  wearied 
of.  The  two  would  lean  across  the  table  toward 
each  other,  McTeague  folding  his  arms  under  his 
breast.  Then  Trina,  resting  on  her  elbows,  would 
part  his  mustache — the  great  blond  mustache  of  a 
135 


McTeague 

viking — with  her  two  hands,  pushing  it  up  from  his 
lips,  causing  his  face  to  assume  the  appearance  of  a 
Greek  mask.  She  would  curl  it  around  either  fore 
finger,  drawing  it  to  a  fine  end.  Then  all  at  once 
McTeague  would  make  a  fearful  snorting  noise 
through  his  nose.  Invariably — though  she  was  ex 
pecting  this,  though  it  was  part  of  the  game — Trina 
would  jump  with  a  stifled  shriek.  McTeague 
would  bellow  with  laughter  till  his  eyes  watered. 
Then  they  would  recommence  upon  the  instant, 
Trina  protesting  with  a  nervous  tremulousness : 
"  Now — now — now,  Mac,  don't;  you  scare  me  so." 
But  these  delicious  tt>te-&-t<?tes  with  Trina  wrere 
offset  by  a  certain  coolness  that  Marcus  Schouler 
began  to  affect  towards  the  dentist.  At  first  Mc 
Teague  was  unaware  of  it;  but  by  this  time  even 
his  slow  wits  began  to  perceive  that  his  best  friend 
— his  "  pal  " — was  not  the  same  to  him  as  formerly. 
They  continued  to  meet  at  lunch  nearly  every  day 
but  Friday  at  the  car  conductors'  coffee-joint.  But 
Marcus  was  sulky;  there  could  be  no  doubt  about 
that.  He  avoided  talking  to  McTeague,  read  the 
paper  continually,  answering  the  dentist's  timid 
efforts  at  conversation  in  gruff  monosyllables. 
Sometimes,  even,  he  turned  sideways  to  the  table 
and  talked  at  great  length  to  Heise  the  harness- 
maker,  whose  table  was  next  to  theirs.  They  took 
no  more  long  walks  together  when  Marcus  went 
out  to  exercise  the  dogs.  Nor  did  Marcus  ever 
again  recur  to  his  generosity  in  renouncing  Trina. 
One  Tuesday,  as  McTeague  took  his  place  at  the 
table  in  the  coffee-joint,  he  found  Marcus  already 
there. 

136 


McTeague 

"  Hello,  Mark,"  said  the  dentist,  "  you  here  al« 
ready?" 

"  Hello,"  returned  the  other,  indifferently,  help 
ing  himself  to  tomato  catsup.  There  was  a  silence. 
After  a  long  while  Marcus  suddenly  looked  up. 

"  Say,  Mac,"  he  exclaimed,  "  when  you  going 
to  pay  me  that  money  you  owe  me?  " 

McTeague  was  astonished. 

"Huh?  What?  I  don't — do  I  owe  you  any 
money,  Mark?  " 

"  Well,  you  owe  me  four  bits,"  returned  Marcus, 
doggedly.  "  I  paid  for  you  and  Trina  that  day  at 
the  picnic,  and  you  never  gave  it  back." 

"Oh — oh!"  answered  McTeague,  in  distress. 
"  That's  so,  that's  so.  I — you  ought  to  have  told 
me  before.  Here's  your  money,  and  I'm  obliged  to 
you." 

"  It  ain't  much,"  observed  Marcus,  sullenly. 
"  But  I  need  all  I  can  get  now-a-days." 

"  Are  you — are  you  broke?  "  inquired  McTeague. 

"  And  I  ain't  saying  anything  about  your  sleep 
ing  at  the  hospital  that  night,  either,"  muttered 
Marcus,  as  he  pocketed  the  coin. 

"  Well — well — do  you  mean — should  I  have  paid 
for  that?" 

"  Well,  you'd  'a'  had  to  sleep  somewhercs,  wouldn't 
you?"  flashed  out  Marcus.  "You  'a'  had  to  pay 
half  a  dollar  for  a  bed  at  the  flat. 

"All  right,  all  right,"  cried  the  dentist,  hastily, 
feeling  in  his  pockets.  "  I  don't  want  you  should 
be  out  anything  on  my  account,  old  man.  Here,  will 
four  bits  do?  " 

"  I  don't  want  your  damn  money,"  shouted  Mar- 


McTeague 

cus  in  a  sudden  rage,  throwing  back  the  coin.  "  I 
ain't  no  beggar." 

McTeague  was  miserable.  How  had  he  of 
fended  his  pal? 

"Well,  I  want  you  should  take  it,  Mark,"  he 
said,  pushing  it  towards  him. 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  touch  your  money,"  ex 
claimed  the  other  through  his  clenched  teeth,  white 
with  passion.  "  I've  been  played  for  a  sucker  long 
enough." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  lately,  Mark?  "  re 
monstrated  McTeague.  "  You've  got  a  grouch 
about  something.  Is  there  anything  I've  done?" 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  that's  all  right,"  returned 
Marcus  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  "  That's  all 
right.  I've  been  played  for  a  sucker  long  enough, 
that's  all.  I've  been  played  for  a  sucker  long 
enough."  He  went  away  with  a  parting  malevolent 
glance. 

At  the  corner  of  Polk  Street,  between  the  flat 
and  the  car  conductors'  coffee-joint,  was  Frenna's. 
It  was  a  corner  grocery;  advertisements  for  cheap 
butter  and  eggs,  painted  in  green  marking-ink  upon 
wrapping  paper,  stood  about  on  the  sidewalk  out 
side.  The  doorway  was  decorated  with  a  huge  Mil 
waukee  beer  sign.  Back  of  the  store  proper  was 
a  bar  where  white  sand  covered  the  floor.  A  few 
tables  and  chairs  were  scattered  here  and  there. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  gorgeously-colored  to 
bacco  advertisements  and  colored  lithographs  of 
trotting  horses.  On  the  wall  behind  the  bar  was  a 
model  of  a  full-rigged  ship  enclosed  in  a  bottle. 

It  was  at  this  place  that  the  dentist  used  to  leave 
138 


McTeague 

his  pitcher  to  be  filled  on  Sunday  afternoons.  Since 
his  engagement  to  Trina  he  had  discontinued  this 
habit.  However,  he  still  dropped  into  Frenna's 
one  or  two  nights  in  the  week.  He  spent  a  pleasant 
hour  there,  smoking  his  huge  porcelain  pipe  and 
drinking  his  beer.  He  never  joined  any  of  the 
groups  of  piquet  players  around  the  tables.  In  fact, 
he  hardly  spoke  to  anyone  but  the  bartender  and 
Marcus. 

For  Frenna's  was  one  of  Marcus  Schouler's 
haunts;  a  great  deal  of  his  time  was  spent  there.  He 
involved  himself  in  fearful  political  and  social  dis 
cussions  with  Heise  the  harness-maker,  and  with 
one  or  two  old  Germans,  habituds  of  the  place. 
These  discussions  Marcus  carried  on,  as  was  his 
custom,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  gesticulating 
fiercely,  banging  the  table  with  his  fists,  brandish 
ing  the  plates  and  glasses,  exciting  himself  with 
his  own  clamor. 

On  a  certain  Saturday  evening,  a  few  days  after 
the  scene  at  the  coffee-joint,  the  dentist  bethought 
him  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  at  Frenna's.  He  had 
not  been  there  for  some  time,  and,  besides  that,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  day  was  his  birthday.  He 
would  permit  himself  an  extra  pipe  and  a  few 
glasses  of  beer.  When  McTeague  entered  Frenna's 
back  room  by  the  street  door,  he  found  Marcus  and 
Heise  already  installed  at  one  of  the  tables.  Two 
or  three  of  the  old  Germans  sat  opposite  them, 
gulping  their  beer  from  time  to  time.  Heise  was 
smoking  a  cigar,  but  Marcus  had  before  him  his 
fourth  whiskey  cocktail.  At  the  moment  of  Mc- 
Teague's  entrance  Marcus  had  the  floor. 
139 


McTeague 

"  It  can't  be  proven,"  he  was  yelling.  "  I  defy 
any  sane  politician  whose  eyes  are  not  blinded  by 
party  prejudices,  whose  opinions  are  not  warped 
by  a  personal  bias,  to  substantiate  such  a  statement. 
Look  at  your  facts,  look  at  your  figures.  I  am  a 
free  American  citizen,  ain't  I?  I  pay  my  taxes  to 
support  a  good  government,  don't  I?  It's  a  con 
tract  between  me  and  the  government,  ain't  it? 
Well,  then,  by  damn!  if  the  authorities  do  not  or 
will  not  afford  me  protection  for  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness,  then  my  obligations  are  at 
an  end;  I  withhold  my  taxes.  I  do — I  do — I  say 
I  do.  What?"  He  glared  about  him,  seeking 
opposition. 

"  That's  nonsense,"  observed  Heise,  quietly. 
"  Try  it  once;  you'll  get  jugged."  But  this  observa-. 
tion  of  the  harness-maker's  roused  Marcus  to  the 
last  pitch  of  frenzy. 

"  Yes,  ah,  yes!"  he  shouted,  rising  to  his  feet, 
shaking  his  finger  in  the  other's  face.  "  Yes,  I'd 
go  to  jail;  but  because  I — I  am  crushed  by  a  tyr 
anny,  does  that  make  the  tyranny  right?  Does 
might  make  right?  " 

"  You  must  make  less  noise  in  here,  Mister 
Schouler,"  said  Frenna,  from  behind  the  bar. 

"  Well,  it  makes  me  mad,"  answered  Marcus, 
subsiding  into  a  growl  and  resuming  his  chair. 
"  Hullo,  Mac." 

"  Hullo,  Mark." 

But  McTeague's  presence  made  Marcus  uneasy, 

rousing  in  him  at  once  a  sense  of  wrong.     He 

twisted  to  and  fro  in  his  chair,  shrugging  first  one 

shoulder  and  then  another.      Quarrelsome  at  all 

140 


McTeague 

times,  the  heat  of  the  previous  discussion  had 
awakened  within  him  all  his  natural  combativeness. 
Besides  this,  he  was  drinking  his  fourth  cocktail. 

McTeague  began  filling  his  big  porcelain  pipe. 
He  lit  it,  blew  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  room, 
and  settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair.  The 
smoke  of  his  cheap  tobacco  drifted  into  the  faces 
of  the  group  at  the  adjoining  table,  and  Marcus 
strangled  and  coughed.  Instantly  his  eyes  flamed. 

"  Say,  for  God's  sake,"  he  vociferated,  "  choke  off 
on  that  pipe!  If  you've  got  to  smoke  rope  like  that, 
smoke  it  in  a  crowd  of  muckers;  don't  come  here 
amongst  gentlemen." 

"  Shut  up,  Schouler!  "  observed  Heise  in  a  low 
voice. 

McTeague  was  stunned  by  the  suddenness  of 
the  attack.  He  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
stared  blankly  at  Marcus;  his  lips  moved,  but  he 
said  no  word.  Marcus  turned  his  back  on  him, 
and  the  dentist  resumed  his  pipe. 

But  Marcus  was  far  from  being  appeased.  Mc 
Teague  could  not  hear  the  talk  that  followed  be 
tween  him  and  the  harness-maker,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  Marcus  was  telling  Heise  of  some  injury, 
some  grievance,  and  that  the  latter  was  trying  to 
pacify  him.  All  at  once  their  talk  grew  louder. 
Heise  laid  a  retaining  hand  upon  his  companion's 
coat  sleeve,  but  Marcus  swung  himself  around  in 
his  chair,  and,  fixing  his  eyes  on  McTeague,  cried  as 
if  in  answer  to  some  protestation  on  the  part  of 
Heise: 

"  All  I  know  is  that  I've  been  soldiered  out  of  five 
thousand  dollars." 

141 


McTeague 

McTeague  gaped  at  him,  bewildered.  He  re 
moved  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  a  second  time,  and 
stared  at  Marcus  with  eyes  full  of  trouble  and  per 
plexity. 

"  If  I  had  my  rights,"  cried  Marcus,  bitterly,  "  I'd 
have  part  of  that  money.  It's  my  due — it's  only 
justice."  The  dentist  still  kept  silence. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,"  Marcus  continued, 
addressing  himself  directly  to  McTeague,  "  you 
wouldn't  have  had  a  cent  of  it — no,  not  a  cent. 
Where's  my  share,  I'd  like  to  know?  Where  do  I 
come  in?  No,  I  ain't  in  it  any  more.  I've  been 
played  for  a  sucker,  an'  now  that  you've  got  all  you 
can  out  of  me,  now  that  you've  done  me  out  of  my 
girl  and  out  of  my  money,  you  give  me  the  go-by. 
Why,  where  would  you  have  been  to-day  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me?"  Marcus  shouted  in  a  sudden  exas 
peration,  "  You'd  a  been  plugging  teeth  at  two  bits 
an  hour.  Ain't  you  got  any  gratitude?  Ain't  you 
got  any  sense  of  decency?  " 

"  Ah,  hold  up,  Schouler,"  grumbled  Heise. 
"  You  don't  want  to  get  into  a  row." 

"  No,  I  don't,  Heise,"  returned  Marcus,  with  a 
plaintive,  aggrieved  air.  "  But  it's  too  much  some 
times  when  you  think  of  it.  He  stole  away  my 
girl's  affections,  and  now  that  he's  rich  and  pros 
perous,  and  has  got  five  thousand  dollars  that  I 
might  have  had,  he  gives  me  the  go-by;  he's 
played  me  for  a  sucker.  Look  here,"  he  cried, 
turning  again  to  McTeague,  "  do  I  get  any  of  that 
money?  " 

"  It  ain't  mine  to  give,"  answered  McTeague. 
"  You're  drunk,  that's  what  you  are." 
142 


McTeague 

"Do  I  get  any  of  that  money?"  cried  Marcus, 
persistently. 

The  dentist  shook  his  head.  "  No,  you  don't  get 
any  of  it." 

"  Now — nozv,"  clamored  the  other,  turning  to  the 
harness-maker,  as  though  this  explained  every 
thing.  "  Look  at  that,  look  at  that.  Well,  I've 
done  with  you  from  now  on."  Marcus  had  risen  to 
his  feet  by  this  time  and  made  as  if  to  leave,  but  at 
every  instant  he  came  back,  shouting  his  phrases 
into  McTeague's  face,  moving  off  again  as  he 
spoke  the  last  words,  in  order  to  give  them  better 
effect. 

"  This  settles  it  right  here.  I've  done  with  you. 
Don't  you  ever  dare  speak  to  me  again  " — his  voice 
was  shaking  with  fury — "  and  don't  you  sit  at  my 
table  in  the  restaurant  again.  I'm  sorry  I  ever 
lowered  myself  to  keep  company  with  such  dirt.  Ah, 
one-horse  dentist!  Ah,  ten-cent  zinc-plugger — hood 
lum — mucker!  Get  your  damn  smoke  outa  my  face." 

Then  matters  reached  a  sudden  climax.  In  his 
agitation  the  dentist  had  been  pulling  hard  on  his 
pipe,  and  as  Marcus  for  the  last  time  thrust  his  face 
close  to  his  own,  McTeague,  in  opening  his  lips  to 
reply,  blew  a  stifling,  acrid  cloud  directly  in  Marcus 
Schouler's  eyes.  Marcus  knocked  the  pipe  from 
his  ringers  with  a  sudden  flash  of  his 'hand;  it  spun 
across  the  room  and  broke  into  a  dozen  fragments 
in  a  far  corner. 

McTeague  rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  wide.  But 
as  yet  he  was  not  angry,  only  surprised,  taken  all 
aback  by  the  suddenness  of  Marcus  Schouler's  out 
break  as  well  as  by  its  unreasonableness.  Why 
M3 


McTeague 

had  Marcus  broken  his  pipe?  What  did  it  all  mean, 
anyway?  As  he  rose  the  dentist  made  a  vague 
motion  with  his  right  hand.  Did  Marcus  misinter 
pret  it  as  a  gesture  of  menace?  He  sprang  back 
as  though  avoiding  a  blow.  All  at  once  there  was 
a  cry.  Marcus  had  made  a  quick,  peculiar  motion, 
swinging  his  arm  upward  with  a  wide  and  sweeping 
gesture;  his  jack-knife  lay  open  in  his  palm;  it  shot 
forward  as  he  flung  it,  glinted  sharply  by  Mc- 
Teague's  head,  and  struck  quivering  into  the  wall 
behind. 

A  sudden  chill  ran  through  the  room ;  the  others 
stood  transfixed,  as  at  the  swift  passage  of  some 
cold  and  deadly  wind.  Death  had  stooped  there 
for  an  instant,  had  stooped  and  past,  leaving  a  trail 
of  terror  and  confusion.  Then  the  door  leading  to 
the  street  slammed;  Marcus  had  disappeared. 

Thereon  a  great  babel  of  exclamation  arose.  The 
tension  of  that  all  but  fatal  instant  snapped,  and 
speech  became  once  more  possible. 

"  He  would  have  knifed  you." 

"  Narrow  escape." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  do  you  call  that?  " 

"  'Tain't  his  fault  he  ain't  a  murderer." 

"  I'd  have  him  up  for  it." 

"  And  they  two  have  been  the  greatest  kind  of 
friends." 

"  He  didn't  touch  you,  did  he?  " 

"  No— no— no." 

"What  a— what  a  devil!  What  treachery!  A 
regular  greaser  trick!  " 

"  Look  out  he  don't  stab  you  in  the  back.     If 
that's  the  kind  of  man  he  is,  you  never  can  tell." 
144 


McTeague 

Frenna  drew  the  knife  from  the  wall. 

"  Guess  I'll  keep  this  toad-stabber,"  he  observed. 
"That  fellow  won't  come  round  for  it  in  a  hurry; 
good-sized  blade,  too."  The  group  examined  it 
with  intense  interest. 

"  Big  enough  to  let  the  life  out  of  any  man,"  ob 
served  Heise. 

"  What — what — what  did  he  do  it  for?  "  stam 
mered  McTeague.  "  I  got  no  quarrel  with 
him." 

He  was  puzzled  and  harassed  by  the  strangeness 
of  it  all.  Marcus  would  have  killed  him ;  had  thrown 
his  knife  at  him  in  the  true,  uncanny  "  greaser  " 
style.  It  was  inexplicable.  McTeague  sat  down 
again,  looking  stupidly  about  on  the  floor.  In  a 
corner  of  the  room  his  eye  encountered  his  broken 
pipe,  a  dozen  little  fragments  of  painted  porcelain 
and  the  stem  of  cherry  wood  and  amber. 

At  that  sight  his  tardy  wrath,  ever  lagging  be 
hind  the  original  affront,  suddenly  blazed  up. 
Instantly  his  huge  jaws  clicked  together. 

"  He  can't  make  small  of  me"  he  exclaimed,  sud 
denly.  "  I'll  show  Marcus  Schouler — I'll  show 
him— I'll " 

He  got  up  and  clapped  on  his  hat. 

"  Now,  Doctor,"  remonstrated  Heise,  standing 
between  him  and  the  door,  "  don't  go  make  a  fool 
of  yourself." 

"  Let  'um  alone,"  joined  in  Frenna,  catching  the 
dentist  by  the  arm;  "  he's  full,  anyhow." 

"  He  broke  my  pipe,"  answered  McTeague. 

It  was  this  that  had  roused  him.  The  thrown 
knife,  the  attempt  on  his  life,  was  beyond  his  solu- 
10  145 


McTeague 

tion;  but  the  breaking  of  his  pipe  he  understood 
clearly  enough. 

"  I'll  show  him,"  he  exclaimed. 

As  though  they  had  been  little  children,  Mc 
Teague  set  Frenna  and  the  harness-maker  aside, 
and  strode  out  at  the  door  like  a  raging  elephant. 
Heise  stood  rubbing  his  shoulder. 

"  Might  as  well  try  to  stop  a  locomotive,"  he 
muttered.  "  The  man's  made  of  iron." 

Meanwhile,  McTeague  went  storming  up  the 
street  toward  the  flat,  wagging  his  head  and 
grumbling  to  himself.  Ah,  Marcus  would  break 
his  pipe,  would  he?  Ah,  he  was  a  zinc-plugger, 
was  he?  He'd  show  Marcus  Schouler.  No  one 
should  make  small  of  him.  He  tramped  up  the 
stairs  to  Marcus's  room.  The  door  was  locked.  The 
dentist  put  one  enormous  hand  on  the  knob  and 
pushed  the  door  in,  snapping  the  wood-work,  tear 
ing  off  the  lock.  Nobody — the  room  was  dark  and 
empty.  Never  mind,  Marcus  would  have  to  come 
home  some  time  that  night.  McTeague  would  go 
down  and  wait  for  him  in  his  "  Parlors."  He  was 
bound  to  hear  him  as  he  came  up  the  stairs. 

As  McTeague  reached  his  room  he  stumbled 
over,  in  the  darkness,  a  big  packing-box  that  stood 
in  the  hallway  just  outside  his  door.  Puzzled,  he 
stepped  over  it,  and  lighting  the  gas  in  his  room, 
dragged  it  inside  and  examined  it. 

It  was  addressed  to  him.  What  could  it  mean? 
He  was  expecting  nothing.  Never  since  he  had 
first  furnished  his  room  had  packing-cases  been 
left  for  him  in  this  fashion.  No  mistake  was  possi 
ble.  There  were  his  name  and  address  unmis- 
146 


McTeague 

takably.     "  Dr.  McTeague,  dentist,  —  Polk  Street, 
San  Francisco,  Cal.,"  and  the  red  Wells-Fargo  tag. 

Seized  with  the  joyful  curiosity  of  an  overgrown 
boy,  he  pried  off  the  boards  with  the  corner  of  his 
fire-shovel.  The  case  was  stuffed  full  of  excelsior. 
On  the  top  lay  an  envelope  addressed  to  him  in 
Trina's  handwriting.  He  opened  it  and  read,  "  For 
my  dear  Mac's  birthday,  from  Trina;  "  and  below,  in 
a  kind  of  postscript,  "  The  man  will  be  round  to 
morrow  to  put  it  in  place."  McTeague  tore  away 
the  excelsior.  Suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclama 
tion. 

It  was  the  Tooth — the  famous  golden  molar  with 
its  huge  prongs — his  sign,  his  ambition,  the  one 
unrealized  dream  of  his  life;  and  it  was  French  gilt, 
too,  not  the  cheap  German  gilt  that  was  no  good. 
Ah,  what  a  dear  little  woman  was  this  Trina,  to 
keep  so  quiet,  to  remember  his  birthday! 

"  Ain't  she — ain't  she  just  a — just  a  jewel,"  ex 
claimed  McTeague  under  his  breath,  "  a  jewel — yes, 
just  a  jewel;  that's  the  word." 

Very  carefully  he  removed  the  rest  of  the  excel 
sior,  and  lifting  the  ponderous  Tooth  from  its  box, 
set  it  upon  the  marble-top  centre  table.  How  im 
mense  it  looked  in  that  little  room!  The  thing  was 
tremendous,  overpowering — the  tooth  of  a  gigan 
tic  fossil,  golden  and  dazzling.  Beside  it  everything 
seemed  dwarfed.  Even  McTeague  himself,  big 
boned  and  enormous  as  he  was,  shrank  and 
dwindled  in  the  presence  of  the  monster.  As  for 
an  instant  he  bore  it  in  his  hands,  it  was  like  a  puny 
Gulliver  struggling  with  the  molar  of  some  vast 
Brobdingnag. 

14? 


McTeague 

The  dentist  circled  about  that  golden  wonder, 
gasping  with  delight  and  stupefaction,  touching  it 
gingerly  with  his  hands  as  if  it  were  something 
sacred.  At  every  moment  his  thought  returned 
to  Trina.  No,  never  was  there  such  a  little  woman 
as  his — the  very  thing  he  wanted — how  had  she  re 
membered  T  And  the  money,  where  had  that  come 
from?  No  one  knew  better  than  he  how  expensive 
were  these  signs;  not  another  dentist  on  Polk  Street 
could  afford  one.  Where,  then,  had  Trina  found  the 
money?  It  came  out  of  her  five  thousand  dollars, 
no  doubt 

But  what  a  wonderful,  beautiful  tooth  it  was,  to 
be  sure,  bright  as  a  mirror,  shining  there  in  its  coat 
of  French  gilt,  as  if  with  a  light  of  its  own!  No 
danger  of  that  tooth  turning  black  with  the  weather, 
as  did  the  cheap  German  gilt  impostures.  What 
would  that  other  dentist,  that  poser,  that  rider  of 
bicycles,  that  courser  of  greyhounds,  say  when  he 
should  see  this  marvellous  molar  run  out  from 
McTeague's  bay  window  like  a  flag  of  defiance?  No 
doubt  he  would  suffer  veritable  convulsions  of  envy; 
would  be  positively  sick  with  jealousy.  If  Mc 
Teague  could  only  see  his  face  at  the  moment! 

For  a  whole  hour  the  dentist  sat  there  in  his  little 
"Parlor,"  gazing  ecstatically  at  his  treasure, dazzled, 
supremely  content.  The  whole  room  took  on  a 
different  aspect  because  of  it.  The  stone  pug  dog 
before  the  little  stove  reflected  it  in  his  protruding 
eyes;  the  canary  woke  and  chittered  feebly  at  this 
new  gilt,  so  much  brighter  than  the  bars  of  its  little 
prison.  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  in  the  steel  engraving, 
in  the  heart  of  his  court,  seemed  to  ogle  the 
148 


McTeague 

thing  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye,  while  the  bril 
liant  colors  of  the  unused  rifle  manufacturer's  cal 
endar  seemed  to  fade  and  pale  in  the  brilliance  of 
this  greater  glory. 

At  length,  long  after  midnight,  the  dentist  started 
to  go  to  bed,  undressing  himself  with  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  great  tooth.  All  at  once  he  heard 
Marcus  Schouler's  foot  on  the  stairs;  he  started  up 
with  his  fists  clenched,  but  immediately  dropped 
back  upon  the  bed-lounge  with  a  gesture  of  in 
difference. 

He  was  in  no  truculent  state  of  mind  now.  He 
could  not  reinstate  himself  in  that  mood  of  wrath 
wherein  he  had  left  the  corner  grocery.  The  tooth 
had  changed  all  that.  What  was  Marcus  Schouler's 
hatred  to  him,  who  had  Trina's  affection?  What 
did  he  care  about  a  broken  pipe  now  that  he  had 
the  tooth?  Let  him  go.  As  Frenna  said,. he  was 
not  worth  it.  He  heard  Marcus  come  out  into  the 
hall,  shouting  aggrievedly  to  anyone  within  sound 
of  his  voice: 

"  An'  now  he  breaks  into  my  room — into  my 
room,  by  damn!  How  do  I  know  how  many  things 
he's  stolen?  It's  come  to  stealing  from  me,  now, 
has  it?"  He  went-  into  his  room,  banging  his 
splintered  door. 

McTeague  looked  upward  at  the  ceiling,  in  the 
direction  of  the  voice,  muttering: 

"  Ah,  go  to  bed,  you." 

He  went  to  bed  himself,  turning  out  the  gas,  but 
leaving  the  window-curtains  up  so  that  he  could 
see  the  tooth  the  last  thing  before  he  went  to  sleep 
and  the  first  thing  as  he  arose  in  the  morning. 
149 


McTeague 

But  he  was  restless  during  the  night.  Every  now 
and  then  he  was  awakened  by  noises  to  which  he 
had  long  since  become  accustomed.  Now  it  was 
the  cackling  of  the  geese  in  the  deserted  market 
across  the  street;  now  it  was  the  stoppage  of  the 
cable,  the  sudden  silence  coming  almost  like  a 
shock;  and  now  it  was  the  infuriated  barking  of  the 
dogs  in  the  back  yard — Alec,  the  Irish  setter,  and 
the  collie  that  belonged  to  the  branch  post-office 
raging  at  each  other  through  the  fence,  snarling 
their  endless  hatred  into  each  other's  faces.  As 
often  as  he  woke,  McTeague  turned  and  looked 
for  the  tooth,  with  a  sudden  suspicion  that  he  had 
only  that  moment  dreamed  the  whole  business. 
But  he  always  found  it — Trina's  gift,  his  birthday 
present  from  his  little  woman — a  huge,  vague  bulk, 
looming  there  through  the  half  darkness  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  shining  dimly  out  as  if  with 
some  mysterious  light  of  its  own. 


150 


IX. 


Trina  and  McTeague  were  married  on  the  first 
day  of  June,  in  the  photographer's  rooms  that  the 
dentist  had  rented.  All  through  May  the  Sieppe 
household  had  been  turned  upside  down.  The 
little  box  of  a  house  vibrated  with  excitement  and 
confusion,  for  not  only  were  the  preparations  for 
Trina's  marriage  to  be  made,  but  also  the  prelimi 
naries  were  to  be  arranged  for  the  hegira  of  the 
entire  Sieppe  family. 

They  were  to  move  to  the  southern  part  of  the 
State  the  day  after  Trina's  marriage,  Mr.  Sieppe 
having  bought  a  third  interest  in  an  upholstering 
business  in  the  suburbs  of  Los  Angeles.  It  was 
possible  that  Marcus  Schouler  would  go  with  them. 

Not  Stanley  penetrating  for  the  first  time  into  the 
Dark  Continent,  not  Napoleon  leading  his  army 
across  the  Alps,  was  more  weighted  with  responsi 
bility,  more  burdened  with  care,  more  overcome 
with  the  sense  of  the  importance  of  his  undertaking, 
than  was  Mr.  Sieppe  during  this  period  of  prepara 
tion.  From  dawn  to  dark,  from  dark  to  early 
dawn,  he  toiled  and  planned  and  fretted,  organiz 
ing  and  reorganizing,  projecting  and  devising.  The 
trunks  were  lettered,  A,  B,  and  C,  the  packages 
and  smaller  bundles  numbered.  Each  member  of  the 
family  had  his  especial  duty  to  perform,  his  particu 
lar  bundles  to  oversee.  Not  a  detail  was  forgotten — 


McTeague 

fares,  prices,  and  tips  were  calculated  to  two  places 
of  decimals.  Even  the  amount  of  food  that  it 
would  be  necessary  to  carry  for  the  black  grey 
hound  was  determined.  Mrs.  Sieppe  was  to  look 
after  the  lunch,  "  der  gomisariat."  Mr.  Sieppe 
would  assume  charge  of  the  checks,  the  money,  the 
tickets,  and,  of  course,  general  supervision.  The 
twins  would  be  under  the  command  of  Owgooste, 
who,  in  turn,  would  report  for  orders  to  his  father. 

Day  in  and  day  out  these  minutiae  were  re 
hearsed.  The  children  were  drilled  in  their  parts 
with  a  military  exactitude;  obedience  and  punctu 
ality  became  cardinal  virtues.  The  vast  importance 
of  the  undertaking  was  insisted  upon  with  scrupu 
lous  iteration.  It  was  a  manoeuvre,  an  army  chang 
ing  its  base  of  operations,  a  veritable  tribal  migra 
tion. 

On  the  other  hand,  Trina's  little  room  was  the 
centre  around  which  revolved  another  and  different 
order  of  things.  The  dressmaker  came  and  went, 
congratulatory  visitors  invaded  the  little  front  par 
lor,  the  chatter  of  unfamiliar  voices  resounded  from 
the  front  steps;  bonnet-boxes  and  yards  of  dress- 
goods  littered  the  beds  and  chairs;  wrapping  paper, 
tissue  paper,  and  bits  of  string  strewed  the  floor;  a 
pair  of  white  satin  slippers  stood  on  a  corner  of  the 
toilet  table;  lengths  of  white  veiling,  like  a  snow- 
flurry,  buried  the  little  work-table;  and  a  mislaid  box 
of  artificial  orange  blossoms  was  finally  discovered 
behind  the  bureau. 

The  two  systems  of  operation  often  clashed  and 
tangled.  Mrs.  Sieppe  was  found  by  her  harassed 
husband  helping  Trina  with  the  wraist  of  her  gown 
152 


McTeague 

when  she  should  have  been  slicing  ^old  chicken 
in  the  kitchen.  Mr.  Sieppe  packed  his  frock  coat, 
which  he  would  have  to  wear  at  the  wedding,  at  the 
very  bottom  of  "  Trunk  C."  The  minister,  who 
called  to  offer  his  congratulations  and  to  make  ar 
rangements,  was  mistaken  for  the  expressman. 

McTeague  came  and  went  furtively,  dizzied  and 
made  uneasy  by  all  this  bustle.  He  got  in  the  way; 
he  trod  upon  and  tore  breadths  of  silk;  he  tried  to 
help  carry  the  packing-boxes,  and  broke  the  hall 
gas  fixture;  he  came  in  upon  Trina  and  the  dress 
maker  at  an  ill-timed  moment,  and  retiring  pre 
cipitately,  overturned  the  piles  of  pictures  stacked 
in  the  hall. 

There  was  an  incessant  going  and  coming  at  every 
moment  of  the  day,  a  great  calling  up  and  down 
stairs,  a  shouting  from  room  to  room,  an  opening 
and  shutting  of  doors,  and  an  intermittent  sound 
of  hammering  from  the  laundry,  where  Mr.  Sieppe 
in  his  shirt  sleeves  labored  among  the  packing- 
boxes.  The  twins  clattered  about  on  the  carpetless 
floors  of  the  denuded  rooms.  Owgooste  was 
smacked  from  hour  to  hour,  and  wept  upon  the 
front  stairs;  the  dressmaker  called  over  the  banis 
ters  for  a  hot  flatiron;  expressmen  tramped 
up  and  down  the  stairway.  Mrs.  Sieppe  stopped 
in  the  preparation  of  the  lunches  to  call  "  Hoop, 
Hoop  "  to  the  greyhound,  throwing  lumps  of  coal. 
The  dog-wheel  creaked,  the  front  door  bell  rang, 
delivery  wagons  rumbled  away,  windows  rattled — 
the  little  house  was  in  a  positive  uproar. 

Almost  every  d'.y  of  the  week  now  Trina  was 
obliged  to  run  c  ver  to  town  and  meet  McTeague. 
153 


McTeague 

No  more  philandering  over  their  lunch  now-a-days. 
It  was  business  now.  They  haunted  the  house- 
furnishing  floors  of  the  great  department  houses, 
inspecting  and  pricing  ranges,  hardware,  china,  and 
the  like.  They  rented  the  photographer's  rooms 
furnished,  and  fortunately  only  the  kitchen  and 
dining-room  utensils  had  to  be  bought. 

The  money  for  this  as  well  as  for  her  trousseau 
came  out  of  Trina's  five  thousand  dollars.  For  it 
had  been  finally  decided  that  two  hundred  dollars 
of  this  amount  should  be  devoted  to  the  establish 
ment  of  the  new  household.  Now  that  Trina  had 
made  her  great  winning,  Mr.  Sieppe  no  longer  saw 
the  necessity  of  dowering  her  further,  especially 
when  he  considered  the  enormous  expense  to  which 
he  would  be  put  by  the  voyage  of  his  own  family. 

It  had  been  a  dreadful  wrench  for  Trina  to  break 
in  upon  her  precious  five  thousand.  She  clung  to 
this  sum  with  a  tenacity  that  was  surprising;  it  had 
become  for  her  a  thing  miraculous,  a  god-from-the 
machine,  suddenly  descending  upon  the  stage  of 
her  humble  little  life;  she  regarded  it  as  something 
almost  sacred  and  inviolable.  Never,  never  should  a 
penny  of  it  be  spent.  Before  she  could  be  induced 
to  part  with  two  hundred  dollars  of  it,  more  than 
one  scene  had  been  enacted  between  her  and  her 
parents. 

Did  Trina  pay  for  the  golden  tooth  out  of  this 
two  hundred?  Later  on,  the  dentist  often  asked 
her  about  it,  but  Trina  invariably  laughed  in  his 
face,  declaring  that  it  was  her  secret.  McTeague 
never  found  out. 

One  day  during  this  period  McTeague  told 
154 


McTeague 

Trina  about  his  affair  with  Marcus.     Instantly  she 
was  aroused. 

"  He  threw  his  knife  at  you!  The  coward!  He 
wouldn't  of  dared  stand  up  to  you  like  a  man.  Oh, 
Mac,  suppose  he  had  hit  you?  " 

"  Came  within  an  inch  of  my  head,"  put  in  Mc 
Teague,  proudly. 

"  Think  of  it!  "  she  gasped;  "  and  he  wanted  part 
of  my  money.  Well,  I  do  like  his  cheek;  part  of  my 
five  thousand!  Why,  it's  mine,  every  single  penny 
of  it.  Marcus  hasn't  the  least  bit  of  right  to  it. 
It's  mine,  mine — I  mean,  it's  ours,  Mac,  dear." 

The  elder  Sieppes,  however,  made  excuses  for 
Marcus.  He  had  probably  been  drinking  a  good 
deal  and  didn't  know  what  he  was  about.  He  had 
a  dreadful  temper,  anyhow.  Maybe  he  only  wanted 
to  scare  McTeague. 

The  week  before  the  marriage  the  two  men  were 
reconciled.  Mrs.  Sieppe  brought  them  together  in 
the  front  parlor  of  the  B  Street  house. 

"  Now,  you  two  fellers,  don't  be  dot  foolish. 
Schake  hands  und  maig  ut  oop,  soh." 

Marcus  muttered  an  apology.  McTeague,  mis 
erably  embarrassed,  rolled  his  eyes  about  the  room, 
murmuring,  "  That's  all  right — that's  all  right — 
that's  all  right." 

However,  when  it  was  proposed  that  Marcus 
should  be  McTeague's  best  man,  he  flashed  out 
again  with  renewed  violence.  Ah,  no!  ah,  no!  He'd 
make  up  with  the  dentist  now  that  he  was  going 
away,  but  he'd  be  damned — yes,  he  would — before 
he'd  be  his  best  man.  That  was  rubbing  it  in.  Let 
him  get  Old  Grannis. 

155 


McTcague 

"  I'm  friends  with  um  all  right/'  vociferated  Mar 
cus,  "  but  I'll  not  stand  up  with  um.  I'll  not  be 
anybody's  best  man,  I  won't." 

The  wedding  was  to  be  very  quiet;  Trina  pre 
ferred  it  that  way.  McTeague  would  invite  only 
Miss  Baker  and  Heise  the  harness-maker.  The 
Sieppes  sent  cards  to  Selina,  who  was  counted  on 
to  furnish  the  music;  to  Marcus,  of  course;  and  to 
Uncle  Oelbermann. 

At  last  the  great  day,  the  first  of  June,  arrived. 
The  Sieppes  had  packed  their  last  box  and  had 
strapped  the  last  trunk.  Trina's  two  trunks  had 
already  been  sent  to  her  new  home — the  remodelled 
photographer's  rooms.  The  B  Street  house  was 
deserted;  the  whole  family  came  over  to  the  city  on 
the  last  day  of  May  and  stopped  over  night  at  one  of 
the  cheap  downtown  hotels.  Trina  would  be  mar 
ried  the  following  evening,  and  immediately  after 
the  wedding  supper  the  Sieppes  would  leave  for 
the  South. 

McTeague  spent  the  day  in  a  fever  of  agitation, 
frightened  out  of  his  wits  each  time  that  Old  Gran- 
nis  left  his  elbow. 

Old  Grannis  was  delighted  beyond  measure  at 
the  prospect  of  acting  the  part  of  best  man  in  the 
ceremony.  This  wedding  in  which  he  was  to  figure 
filled  his  mind  with  vague  ideas  and  half-formed 
thoughts.  He  found  himself  continually  wonder 
ing  what  Miss  Baker  would  think  of  it.  During  all 
that  day  he  was  in  a  reflective  mood. 

"  Marriage  is  a — a  noble  institution,  is  it  not, 
Doctor?  "  he  observed  to  McTeague.  "  The— the 
foundation  of  society.  It  is  not  good  that  man 
156 


McTeague 

should  be  alone.  No,  no,"  he  added,  pensively, 
"  it  is  not  good." 

"  Huh?  Yes,  yes,"  McTeague  answered,  his  eyes 
in  the  air,  hardly  hearing  him.  "  Do  you  think 
the  rooms  are  all  right?  Let's  go  in  and  look  at 
them  again." 

They  went  down  the  hall  to  where  the  new  fooms 
were  situated,  and  the  dentist  inspected  them  for 
the  twentieth  time. 

The  rooms  were  three  in  number — first,  the  sit 
ting-room,  which  was  also  the  dining-room;  then 
the  bedroom,  and  back  of  this  the  tiny  kitchen. 

The  sitting-room  was  particularly  charming. 
Clean  matting  covered  the  floor,  and  two  or  three 
bright-colored  rugs  were  scattered  here  and  there. 
The  backs  of  the  chairs  were  hung  with  knitted 
worsted  tidies,  very  gay.  The  bay  window  should 
have  been  occupied  by  Trina's  sewing  machine,  but 
this  had  been  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the  room 
to  give  place  to  a  little  black  walnut  table  with  spiral 
legs,  before  which  the  pair  were  to  be  married.  In 
one  corner  stood  the  parlor  melodeon,  a  family  pos 
session  of  the  Sieppes,but  given  now  toTrina  as  one 
of  her  parents'  wedding  presents.  Three  pictures 
hung  upon  the  walls.  Two  were  companion  pieces. 
One  of  these  represented  a  little  boy  wearing  huge 
spectacles  and  trying  to  smoke  an  enormous  pipe. 
This  was  called  "  I'm  Grandpa,"  the  title  being 
printed  in  large  black  letters;  the  companion  picture 
was  entitled  "  I'm  Grandma,"  a  little  girl  in  cap  and 
"  specs,"  wearing  mitts,  and  knitting.  These  pic 
tures  were  hung  on  either  side  of  the  mantelpiece. 
The  other  picture  was  quite  an  affair,  very  large  and 
157 


Me  Te  ague 

striking.  It  was  a  colored  lithograph  of  two  lit 
tle  golden-haired  girls  in  their  nightgowns.  They 
were  kneeling  down  and  saying  their  prayers;  their 
eyes — very  large  and  very  blue — rolled  upward. 
This  picture  had  for  name,  "  Faith,"  and  was  bor 
dered  with  a  red  plush  mat  and  a  frame  of  imita 
tion  beaten  brass. 

A  door  hung  with  chenille  portieres — a  bargain 
at  two  dollars  and  a  half — admitted  one  to  the  bed 
room.  The  bedroom  could  boast  a  carpet,  three- 
ply  ingrain,  the  design  being  bunches  of  red  and 
green  flowers  in  yellow  baskets  on  a  white  ground. 
The  wall-paper  was  admirable — hundreds  and  hun 
dreds  of  tiny  Japanese  mandarins,  all  identically 
alike,  helping  hundreds  of  almond-eyed  ladies  into 
hundreds  of  impossible  junks,  while  hundreds  of 
bamboo  palms  overshadowed  the  pair,  and  hun 
dreds  of  long-legged  storks  trailed  contemptuously 
away  from  the  scene.  This  room  was  prolific  in 
pictures.  Most  of  them  were  framed  colored  prints 
from  Christmas  editions  of  the  London  "  Graphic  " 
and  "  Illustrated  News,"  the  subject  of  each  picture 
inevitably  involving  very  alert  fox  terriers  and  very 
pretty  moon-faced  little  girls. 

Back  of  the  bedroom  was  the  kitchen,  a  creation 
of  Trina's,  a  dream  of  a  kitchen,  with  its  range,  its 
porcelain-lined  sink,  its  copper  boiler,  and  its  over 
powering  array  of  flashing  tinware.  Everything 
was  new;  everything  was  complete. 

Maria  Macapa  and  a  waiter  from  one  of  the 
restaurants  in  the  street  were  to  prepare  the  wed 
ding  supper  here.  Maria  had  already  put  in  an 
appearance.  The  fire  was  crackling  in  the  new 
158 


McTeague 

stove,  that  smoked  badly;  a  smell  of  cooking  was  in 
the  air.  She  drove  McTeague  and  Old  Grannis 
from  the  room  with  great  gestures  of  her  bare  arms. 

This  kitchen  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  rooms 
they  had  been  obliged  to  furnish  throughout.  Most 
of  the  sitting-room  and  bedroom  furniture  went 
with  the  suite;  a  few  pieces  they  had  bought;  the 
remainder  Trina  had  brought  over  from  the  B 
Street  house. 

The  presents  had  been  set  out  on  the  extension 
table  in  the  sitting-room.  Besides  the  parlor  melo- 
deon,  Trina's  parents  had  given  her  an  ice-water 
set,  and  a  carving  knife  and  fork  with  elk-horn 
handles.  Selina  had  painted  a  view  of  the  Golden 
Gate  upon  a  polished  slice  of  redwood  that  answered 
the  purposes  of  a  paper  weight.  Marcus  Schouler 
• — after  impressing  upon  Trina  that  his  gift  was  to 
her,  and  not  to  McTeague — had  sent  a  chatelaine 
watch  of  German  silver;  Uncle  Oelbermann's  pres 
ent,  however,  had  been  awaited  with  a  good  deal  of 
curiosity.  What  would  he  send?  He  was  very 
rich;  in  a  sense  Trina  was  his  protegt.  A  couple 
of  days  before  that  upon  which  the  wedding  was 
to  take  place,  two  boxes  arrived  with  his  card. 
Trina  and  McTeague,  assisted  by  Old  Grannis,  had 
opened  them.  The  first  was  a  box  of  all  sorts  of 
toys. 

"  But  what — what — I  don't  make  it  out,"  Mc 
Teague  had  exclaimed.  "  Why  should  he  send  us 
toys?  We  have  no  need  of  toys."  Scarlet  to  her 
hair,  Trina  dropped  into  a  chair  and  laughed  till 
she  cried  behind  her  handkerchief. 

"  We've  no  use  of  toys,"  muttered  McTeague, 

159 


McTeague 

looking*  at  her  in  perplexity.  Old  Grannis  smiled 
discreetly,  raising  a  tremulous  hand  to  his  chin. 

The  other  box  was  heavy,  bound  with  withes  at 
the  edges,  the  letters  and  stamps  burnt  in. 

"  I  think — I  really  think  it's  champagne,"  said 
Old  Grannis  in  a  whisper.  So  it  was.  A  full  case 
of  Monopole.  What  a  wonder!  None  of  them 
had  seen  the  like  before.  Ah,  this  Uncle  Oelber- 
mann !  That's  what  it  was  to  be  rich.  Not  one  of 
the  other  presents  produced  so  deep  an  impression 
as  this. 

After  Old  Grannis  and  the  dentist  had  gone 
through  the  rooms,  giving  a  last  look  around  to  see 
that  everything  was  ready,  they  returned  to  Mc- 
Teague's  "  Parlors."  At  the  door  Old  Grannis  ex 
cused  himself. 

At  four  o'clock  McTeague  began  to  dress,  shav 
ing  himself  first  before  the  hand-glass  that  was 
hung  against  the  woodwork  of  the  bay  window. 
While  he  shaved  he  sang  with  strange  inappropri- 
ateness : 

"  No  one  to  love,  none  to  caress, 
Left  all  alone  in  this  world's  wilderness." 

But  as  he  stood  before  the  mirror,  intent  upon  his 
shaving,  there  came  a  roll  of  wheels  over  the  cob 
bles  in  front  of  the  house.  He  rushed  to  the  win 
dow.  Trina  had  arrived  with  her  father  and  mother. 
He  saw  her  get  out,  and  as  she  glanced  upward 
at  his  window,  their  eyes  met. 

Ah,   there   she  was.     There  she  was,  his   little 
woman,  looking  up  at  him,  her  adorable  little  chin 
thrust  upward  with  that  familiar  movement  of  inno- 
160 


McTeague 

cence  and  confidence.  The  dentist  saw  again,  as  if 
for  the  first  time,  her  small,  pale  face  looking  out 
from  beneath  her  royal  tiara  of  black  hair;  he  saw 
again  her  long,  narrow  blue  eyes;  her  lips,  nose,  and 
tiny  ears,  pale  and  bloodless,  and  suggestive  of 
anaemia,  as  if  all  the  vitality  that  should  have  lent 
them  color  had  been  sucked  up  into  the  strands  and 
coils  of  that  wonderful  hair. 

As  their  eyes  met  they  waved  their  hands  gayly 
to  each  other;  then  McTeague  heard  Trina  and  her 
mother  come  up  the  stairs  and  go  into  the  bedroom 
of  the  photographer's  suite,  where  Trina  was  to 
dress. 

No,  no;  surely  there  could  be  no  longer  any  hesi 
tation,  lie  knew  that  he  loved  her.  What  was  the 
matter  with  him,  that  he  should  have  doubted  it  for 
an  instant?  The  great  difficulty  was  that  she  was 
too  good,  too  adorable,  too  sweet,  too  delicate  for 
him,  who  was  so  huge,  so  clumsy,  so  brutal. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  It  was  Old 
Grannis.  He  was  dressed  in  his  one  black  suit  of 
broadcloth,  much  wrinkled;  his  hair  was  carefully 
brushed  over  his  bald  forehead. 

"  Miss  Trina  has  come,"  he  announced,  "  and  the 
minister.  You  have  an  hour  yet." 

The  dentist  finished  dressing.  He  wore  a  suit 
bought  for  the  occasion — a  ready  made  "  Prince 
Albert "  coat  too  short  in  the  sleeves,  striped 
"  blue  "  trousers,  and  new  patent  leather  shoes — 
veritable  instruments  of  torture.  Around  his  collar 
was  a  wonderful  necktie  that  Trina  had  given  him; 
it  was  of  salmon-pink  satin;  in  its  centre  Selina  had 
painted  a  knot  of  blue  forget-me-nots. 
IT  161 


McTeague 

At  length,  after  an  interminable  period  of  wait 
ing,  Mr.  Sieppe  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Are  you  reatty?  "  he  asked  in  a  sepulchral  whis 
per.  "  Gome,  den."  It  was  like  King  Charles 
summoned  to  execution.  Mr.  Sieppe  preceded 
them  into  the  hall,  moving  at  a  funereal  pace.  He 
paused.  Suddenly,  in  the  direction  of  the  sitting- 
room,  came  the  strains  of  the  parlor  melodeon.  Mr. 
Sieppe  flung  his  arm  into  the  air. 

"Vowaarts!"  he  cried. 

He  left  them  at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  he 
himself  going  into  the  bedroom  where  Trina  was 
waiting,  entering  by  the  hall  door.  He  was  in  a 
tremendous  state  of  nervous  tension,  fearful  lest 
something  should  go  wrong.  He  had  employed 
the  period  of  waiting  in  going  through  his  part  for 
the  fiftieth  time,  repeating  what  he  had  to  say  in  a 
low  voice.  He  had  even  made  chalk  marks  on  the 
matting  in  the  places  where  he  was  to  take  posi 
tions. 

The  dentist  and  Old  Grannis  entered  the  sitting- 
room;  the  minister  stood  behind  the  little  table  in 
the  bay  window,  holding  a  book,  one  finger  mark 
ing  the  place;  he  was  rigid,  erect,  impassive.  On 
either  side  of  him,  in  a  semi-circle,  stood  the  in 
vited  guests.  A  little  pock-marked  gentleman  in 
glasses,  no  doubt  the  famous  Uncle  Oelbermann; 
Miss  Baker,  in  her  black  grenadine,  false  curls, 
and  coral  brooch ;  Marcus  Schouler,  his  arms  folded, 
his  brows  bent,  grand  and  gloomy;  Heise  the  har 
ness-maker,  in  yellow  gloves,  intently  studying  the 
pattern  of  the  matting;  and  Owgooste,  in  his  Faunt- 
leroy  "  costume,"  stupefied  and  a  little  frightened, 
162 


McTeague 

rolling  his  eyes  from  face  to  face.  Selina  sat  at  the 
parlor  melodeon,  fingering  the  keys,  her  glance 
wandering  to  the  chenille  portieres.  She  stopped 
playing  as  McTeague  and  Old  Grannis  entered  and 
took  their  places.  A  profound  silence  ensued. 
Uncle  Oelbermann's  shirt  front  could  be  heard 
creaking  as  he  breathed.  The  most  solemn  expres 
sion  pervaded  every  face. 

All  at  once  the  portieres  were  shaken  violently. 
It  was  a  signal.  Selina  pulled  open  the  stops  and 
swung  into  the  wedding  march. 

Trina  entered.  She  was  dressed  in  white  silk,  a 
crown  of  orange  blossoms  was  around  her  swarthy 
hair — dressed  high  for  the  first  time — her  veil 
reached  to  the  floor.  Her  face  was  pink,  but  other 
wise  she  was  calm.  She  looked  quietly  around  the 
room  as  she  crossed  it,  until  her  glance  rested  on 
McTeague,  smiling  at  him  then  very  prettily  and 
with  perfect  self-possession. 

She  was  on  her  father's  arm.  The  twins,  dressed 
exactly  alike,  walked  in  front,  each  carrying  an 
enormous  bouquet  of  cut  flowers  in  a  "  lace-paper  " 
holder.  Mrs.  Sieppe  followed  in  the  rear.  She 
was  crying;  her  handkerchief  was  rolled  into  a  wad. 
From  time  to  time  she  looked  at  the  train  of 
Trina's  dress  through  her  tears.  Mr.  Sieppe 
marched  his  daughter  to  the  exact  middle  of  the 
floor,  wheeled  at  right  angles,  and  brought  her  up 
to  the  minister.  He  stepped  back  three  paces,  and 
stood  planted  upon  one  of  his  chalk  marks,  his  face 
glistening  with  perspiration. 

Then  Trina  and  the  dentist  were  married.  The 
guests  stood  in  constrained  attitudes,  looking  fur- 
163 


McTcague 

lively  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes.  Mr.  Sieppe 
never  moved  a  muscle;  Mrs.  Sieppe  cried  into  her 
handkerchief  all  the  time.  At  the  melodeon  Selina 
played  "  Call  Me  Thine  Own,"  very  softly,  the 
tremulo  stop  pulled  out.  She  looked  over  her 
shoulder  from  time  to  time.  Between  the  pauses 
of  the  music  one  could  hear  the  low  tones  of  the 
minister,  the  responses  of  the  participants,  and  the 
suppressed  sounds  of  Mrs.  Sieppe's  weeping.  Out 
side  the  noises  of  the  street  rose  to  the  windows  in 
muffled  undertones,  a  cable  car  rumbled  past,  a 
newsboy  went  by  chanting  the  evening  papers;  from 
somewhere  in  the  building  itself  came  a  persistent 
noise  of  sawing. 

Trina  and  McTeague  knelt.  The  dentist's  knees 
thudded  on  the  floor  and  he  presented  to  view  the 
soles  of  his  shoes,  painfully  new  and  unworn,  the 
leather  still  yellow,  the  brass  nail  heads  still  glitter 
ing.  Trina  sank  at  his  side  very  gracefully,  settling 
her  dress  and  train  with  a  little  gesture  of  her  free 
hand.  The  company  bowed  their  heads,  Mr.  Sieppe 
shutting  his  eyes  tight.  But  Mrs.  Sieppe  took  ad 
vantage  of  the  moment  to  stop  crying  and  make 
furtive  gestures  towards  Owgooste,  signing  him  to 
pull  down  his  coat.  But  Owgooste  gave  no  heed; 
his  eyes  were  starting  from  their  sockets,  his  chin 
had  dropped  upon  his  lace  collar,  and  his  head 
turned  vaguely  from  side  to  side  with  a  continued 
and  maniacal  motion. 

All  at  once  the  ceremony  was  over  before  any  one 

expected  it.     The  guests  kept  their  positions  for  a 

moment,  eying  one  another,  each  fearing  to  make 

the  first  move,  not  quite  certain  as  to  whether  or 

164 


McTeague 

not  everything  were  finished.  But  the  couple  faced 
the  room,  Trina  throwing  back  her  veil.  She — 
perhaps  McTeague  as  well — felt  that  there  was  a 
certain  inadequateness  about  the  ceremony.  Was 
that  all  there  was  to  it?  Did  just  those  few  mut 
tered  phrases  make  them  man  and  wife?  It  had 
been  over  in  a  few  moments,  but  it  had  bound  them 
for  life.  Had  not  something  been  left  out?  Was 
not  the  whole  affair  cursory,  superficial?  It  was 
disappointing. 

But  Trina  had  no  time  to  dwell  upon  this.  Mar 
cus  Schouler,  in  the  manner  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
who  knew  how  to  act  in  every  situation,  stepped 
forward  and,  even  before  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Sieppe,  took 
Trina's  hand. 

"  Let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague,"  he  said,  feeling  very  noble  and  heroic. 
The  strain  of  the  previous  moments  was  relaxed 
immediately,  the  guests  crowded  around  the  pair, 
shaking  hands — a  babel  of  talk  arose. 

"  Owgooste,  will  you  pull  down  your  goat,  den?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  now  you're  married  and  happy. 
When  I  first  saw  you  two  together,  I  said,  '  What  a 
pair! '  We're  to  be  neighbors  now;  you  must  come 
up  and  see  me  very  often  and  we'll  have  tea  to 
gether." 

"  Did  you  hear  that  sawing  going  on  all  the  time? 
I  declare  it  regularly  got  on  my  nerves." 

Trina  kissed  her  father  and  mother,  crying  a  little 
herself  as  she  saw  the  tears  in  Mrs.  Sieppe's 
eyes. 

Marcus  came  forward  a  second  time,  and,  writh 
an  air  of  great  gravity,  kissed  his  cousin  upon  the 
165 


McTeague 

forehead.       Heise   was   introduced   to   Trina   and 
Uncle  Oelbermann  to  the  dentist. 

For  upwards  of  half  an  hour  the  guests  stood 
about  in  groups,  filling  the  little  sitting-room  with 
a  great  chatter  of  talk.  Then  it  was  time  to  make 
ready  for  supper. 

This  was  a  tremendous  task,  in  which  nearly  all 
the  guests  were  obliged  to  assist.  The  sitting-room 
was  transformed  into  a  dining-room.  The  presents 
were  removed  from  the  extension  table  and  the 
table  drawn  out  to  its  full  length.  The  cloth  was 
laid,  the  chairs — rented  from  the  dancing  academy 
hard  by — drawn  up,  the  dishes  set  out,  and  the  two 
bouquets  of  cut  flowers  taken  from  the  twins  under 
their  shrill  protests,  and  "  arranged  "  in  vases  at 
either  end  of  the  table. 

There  was  a  great  coming  and  going  between  the 
kitchen  and  the  sitting-room.  Trina,  who  was  al 
lowed  to  do  nothing,  sat  in  the  bay  window  and 
fretted,  calling  to  her  mother  from  time  to  time: 

"  The  napkins  are  in  the  right-hand  drawer  of  the 
pantry." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  got  um.  Where  do  you  geep  der 
zoup  blates?  " 

"  The  soup  plates  are  here  already." 

"  Say,  Cousin  Trina,  is  there  a  corkscrew?  What 
is  home  without  a  corkscrew?  " 

"  In  the  kitchen-table  drawer,  in  the  left-hand 
corner." 

"  Are  these  the  forks  you  want  to  use,  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague?" 

"  No,  no,  there's  some  silver  forks.  Mamma 
knows  where." 

166 


McTeague 

They  were  all  very  gay,  laughing  over  their  mis 
takes,  getting  in  one  another's  way,  rushing  into  the 
sitting-room,  their  hands  full  of  plates  or  knives  or 
glasses,  and  darting  out  again  after  more.  Marcus 
and  Mr.  Sieppe  took  their  coats  off.  Old  Gran- 
nis  and  Miss  Baker  passed  each  other  in  the  hall 
in  a  constrained  silence,  her  grenadine  brushing 
against  the  elbow  of  his  wrinkled  frock  coat.  Uncle 
Oelbermann  superintended  Heise  opening  the  case 
of  champagne  with  the  gravity  of  a  magistrate. 
Owgooste  was  assigned  the  task  of  filling  the  new 
salt  and  pepper  canisters  of  red  and  blue  glass. 

In  a  wonderfully  short  time  everything  was 
ready.  Marcus  Schouler  resumed  his  coat,  wiping 
his  forehead,  and  remarking: 

"  I  tell  you,  I've  been  doing  chores  for  my  board." 

"  To  der  table!  "  commanded  Mr.  Sieppe. 

The  company  sat  down  with  a  great  clatter, 
Trina  at  the  foot,  the  dentist  at  the  head,  the  others 
arranged  themselves  in  haphazard  fashion.  But  it 
happened  that  Marcus  Schouler  crowded  into  the 
seat  beside  Selina,  towards  which  Old  Grannis 
was  directing  himself.  There  was  but  one  other 
chair  vacant,  and  that  at  the  side  of  Miss  Baker. 
Old  Grannis  hesitated,  putting  his  hand  to  his  chin. 
However,  there  was  no  escape.  In  great  trepida 
tion  he  sat  down  beside  the  retired  dressmaker. 
Neither  of  them  spoke.  Old  Grannis  dared  not 
move,  but  sat  rigid,  his  eyes  riveted  on  his  empty 
soup  plate. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  report  like  a  pistol.  The 
men  started  in  their  places.  Mrs.  Sieppe  uttered 
a  muffled  shriek.  The  waiter  from  the  cheap  res- 
167 


McTeague 

taurant,  hired  as  Maria's  assistant,  rose  from  a 
bending  posture,  a  champagne  bottle  frothing  in 
his  hand;  he  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  Don't  get  scairt,"  he  said,  reassuringly,  "  it  ain't 
loaded." 

When  all  their  glasses  had  been  filled,  Marcus 
proposed  the  health  of  the  bride,  "  standing  up." 
The  guests  rose  and  drank.  Hardly  one  of  them 
had  ever  tasted  champagne  before.  The  moment's 
silence  after  the  toast  was  broken  by  McTeague  ex 
claiming  with  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction:  "  That's 
the  best  beer  /  ever  drank." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter.  Especially  was 
Marcus  tickled  over  the  dentist's  blunder;  he  went 
oft  in  a  very  spasm  of  mirth,  banging  the  table 
with  his  fist,  laughing  until  his  eyes  watered.  All 
through  the  meal  he  kept  breaking  out  into 
cackling  imitations  of  McTeague's  words:  "That's 
the  best  beer  I  ever  drank.  Oh,  Lord,  ain't  that 
a  break!" 

What  a  wonderful  supper  that  was!  There  was 
oyster  soup;  there  were  sea  bass  and  barracuda; 
there  was  a  gigantic  roast  goose  stuffed  with  chest 
nuts;  there  were  egg-plant  and  sweet  potatoes — 
Miss  Baker  called  them  "  yams."  There  was  calf's 
head  in  oil,  over  which  Mr.  Sieppe  went  into  ecsta 
sies;  there  was  lobster  salad;  there  were  rice  pud 
ding,  and  strawberry  ice  cream,  and  wine  jelly,  and 
stewed  prunes,  and  cocoanuts,  and  mixed  nuts,  and 
raisins,  and  fruit,  and  tea,  and -coffee,  and  mineral 
waters,  and  lemonade. 

For  two  hours  the  guests  ate;  their  faces  red, 
their  elbows  wide,  the  perspiration  beading  their 

168 


McTeague 

foreheads.  All  around  the  table  one  saw  the  same 
incessant  movement  of  jaws  and  heard  the  same 
uninterrupted  sound  of  chewing.  Three  times 
Heise  passed  his  plate  for  more  roast  goose.  Mr. 
Sieppe  devoured  the  calf's  head  with  long  breaths  of 
contentment;  McTeague  ate  for  the  sake  of  eating, 
without  choice;  everything  within  reach  of  his 
hands  found  its  way  into  his  enormous  mouth. 

There  was  but  little  conversation,  and  that  only 
of  the  food;  one  exchanged  opinions  with  one's 
neighbor  as  to  the  soup,  the  egg-plant,  or  the  stewed 
prunes.  Soon  the  room  became  very  warm,  a  faint 
moisture  appeared  upon  the  windows,  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  smell  of  cooked  food.  At  every 
moment  Trina  or  Mrs.  Sieppe  urged  some  one  of 
the  company  to  have  his  or  her  plate  refilled.  They 
were  constantly  employed  in  dishing  potatoes  or 
carving  the  goose  or  ladling  gravy.  The  hired 
waiter  circled  around  the  room,  his  limp  napkin 
over  his  arm,  his  hands  full  of  plates  and  dishes.  He 
was  a  great  joker;  he  had  names  of  his  own  for 
different  articles  of  food,  that  sent  gales  of  laughter 
around  the  table.  When  he  spoke  of  a  bunch  of 
parsley  as  "  scenery,"  Heise  all  but  strangled  him 
self  over  a  mouthful  of  potato.  Out  in  the  kitchen 
Maria  Macapa  did  the  work  of  three,  her  face 
scarlet,  her  sleeves  rolled  up;  every  now  and  then 
she  uttered  shrill  but  unintelligible  outcries,  sup 
posedly  addressed  to  the  waiter. 

"  Uncle  Oelbermann,"  said  Trina,  "  let  me  give 
you  another  helping  of  prunes." 

The  Sieppes  paid  great  deference  to  Uncle  Oel 
bermann,  as  indeed  did  the  whole  company.  Even 
169 


McTeague 

Marcus  Schouler  lowered  his  voice  when  he  ad 
dressed  him.  At  the  beginning  of  the  meal  he  had 
nudged  the  harness-maker  and  had  whispered  be 
hind  his  hand,  nodding  his  head  toward  the  whole 
sale  toy  dealer,  "  Got  thirty  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank;  has,  for  a  fact." 

"  Don't  have  much  to  say,"  observed  Heise. 

"  No,  no.     That's  his  way;  never  opens  his  face." 

As  the  evening  wore  on,  the  gas  and  two  lamps 
were  lit.  The  company  were  still  eating.  The  men, 
gorged  with  food,  had  unbuttoned  their  vests.  Mc- 
Teague's  cheeks  were  distended,  his  eyes  wide,  his 
huge,  salient  jaw  moved  with  a  machine-like  regu 
larity;  at  intervals  he  drew  a  series  of  short  breaths 
through  his  nose.  Mrs.  Sieppe  wiped  her  forehead 
with  her  napkin. 

"  Hey,  dere,  poy,  gif  me  some  more  oaf  dat — 
what  you  call — '  bubble-water.'  " 

That  was  how  the  waiter  had  spoken  of  the 
champagne — "  bubble-water."  The  guests  had 
shouted  applause,  "  Outa  sight."  He  was  a  heavy 
josher  was  that  waiter. 

Bottle  after  bottle  was  opened,  the  women  stop 
ping  their  ears  as  the  corks  were  drawn.  All  of  a 
sudden  the  dentist  uttered  an  exclamation,  clap 
ping  his  hand  to  his  nose,  his  face  twisting  sharply. 

"  Mac,  what  is  it?  "  cried  Trina  in  alarm. 

"  That  champagne  came  to  my  nose,"  he  cried, 
his  eyes  watering.  "  It  stings  like  everything." 

"  Great  beer,  ain't  ut?  "  shouted  Marcus. 

"  Now,    Mark,"    remonstrated   Trina   in   a   low 
voice.     "  Now,  Mark,  you  just  shut  up;  that  isn't 
funny  any  more.     I  don't  want  you  should  make 
170 


McTeague 

fun  of  Mac.  He  called  it  beer  on  purpose.  I  guess 
he  knows." 

Throughout  the  meal  old  Miss  Baker  had  oc 
cupied  herself  largely  with  Owgooste  and  the  twins, 
who  had  been  given  a  table  by  themselves — the 
black  walnut  table  before  which  the  ceremony  had 
taken  place.  The  little  dressmaker  was  continually 
turning  about  in  her  place,  inquiring  of  the  children 
if  they  wanted  for  anything;  inquiries  they  rarely 
answered  other  than  by  stare,  fixed,  ox-like,  ex 
pressionless. 

Suddenly  the  little  dressmaker  turned  to  Old 
Grannis  and  exclaimed: 

"  I'm  so  very  fond  of  little  children." 

"  Yes,  yes,  they're  very  interesting.  I'm  very 
fond  of  them,  too." 

The  next  instant  both  of  the  old  people  were 
overwhelmed  with  confusion.  What!  They  had 
spoken  to  each  other  after  all  these  years  of  silence; 
they  had  for  the  first  time  addressed  remarks  to 
each  other. 

The  old  dressmaker  was  in  a  torment  of  embar 
rassment.  How  was  it  she  had  come  to  speak? 
She  had  neither  planned  nor  wished  it.  Suddenly 
the  words  had  escaped  her,  he  had  answered,  and 
it  was  all  over — over  before  they  knew  it. 

Old  Grannis's  fingers  trembled  on  the  table  ledge, 
his  heart  beat  heavily,  his  breath  fell  short.  He 
had  actually  talked  to  the  little  dressmaker.  That 
possibility  to  which  he  had  looked  forward,  it 
seemed  to  him  for  years — that  companionship, 
that  intimacy  with  his  fellow-lodger,  that  delight 
ful  acquaintance  which  was  only  to  ripen  at  some 
ni 


McTeaguc 

far  distant  time,  he  could  not  exactly  say  when — 
behold,  it  had  suddenly  come  to  a  head,  here  in  this 
over-crowded,  over-heated  room,  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  feeding,  surrounded  by  odors  of  hot  dishes, 
accompanied  by  the  sounds  of  incessant  mastica 
tion.  How  different  he  had  imagined  it  would  be! 
They  were  to  be  alone — he  and  Miss  Baker — in  the 
evening  somewhere,  withdrawn  from  the  world, 
very  quiet,  very  calm  and  peaceful.  Their  talk  was 
to  be  of  their  lives,  their  lost  illusions,  not  of  other 
people's  children. 

The  two  old  people  did  not  speak  again.  They 
sat  there  side  by  side,  nearer  than  they  had  ever 
been  before,  motionless,  abstracted;  their  thoughts 
far  away  from  that  scene  of  feasting.  They  were 
thinking  of  each  other  and  they  were  conscious  of 
it.  Timid,  with  the  timidity  of  their  second  child 
hood,  constrained  and  embarrassed  by  each  other's 
presence,  they  were,  nevertheless,  in  a  little  Elysium 
of  their  own  creating.  They  walked  hand  in  hand 
in  a  delicious  garden  where  it  was  always  autumn; 
together  and  alone  they  entered  upon  the  long 
retarded  romance  of  their  commonplace  and  un 
eventful  lives. 

At  last  that  great  supper  was  over,  everything 
had  been  eaten;  the  enormous  roast  goose  had 
dwindled  to  a  very  skeleton.  Mr.  Sieppe  had  re 
duced  the  calf's  head  to  a  mere  skull;  a  row  of 
empty  champagne  bottles — "  dead  soldiers,"  as  the 
facetious  waiter  had  called  them — lined  the  mantel 
piece.  Nothing  of  the  stewed  prunes  remained  but 
the  juice,  which  was  give.n  to  Owgooste  and  the 
twins.  The  platters  were  as  clean  as  if  they  had 
172 


McTeague 

been  washed;  crumbs  of  bread,  potato  parings,  nut 
shells,  and  bits  of  cake  littered  the  table;  coffee  and 
ice-cream  stains  and  spots  of  congealed  gravy 
marked  the  position  of  each  plate.  It  was  a  devas* 
tation,  a  pillage;  the  table  presented  the  appearance 
of  an  abandoned  battlefield. 

"  Out,"  cried  Mrs.  Sieppe,  pushing  back,  "  I  haf 
eatun  und  eatun,  ach,  Gott,  how  I  haf  eatun!  " 

"  Ah,  dot  kaf's  het,"  murmured  her  husband, 
passing  his  tongue  over  his  lips. 

The  facetious  waiter  had  disappeared.  He  and 
Maria  Macapa  foregathered  in  the  kitchen.  They 
drew  up  to  the  washboard  of  the  sink,  feasting  off 
the  remnants  of  the  supper,  slices  of  goose,  the  re 
mains  of  the  lobster  salad,  and  half  a  bottle  of 
champagne.  They  were  obliged  to  drink  the  latter 
from  teacups. 

"  Here's  how,"  said  the  waiter  gallantly,  as 
he  raised  his  teacup,  bowing  to  Maria  across 
the  sink.  "  Hark,"  he  added,  "  they're  singing  in 
side." 

The  company  had  left  the  table  and  had  assem 
bled  about  the  melodeon,  where  Selina  was  seated. 
At  first  they  attempted  some  of  the  popular  songs 
of  the  day,  but  were  obliged  to  give  over  as  none 
of  them  knew  any  of  the  words  beyond  the  first  line 
of  the  chorus.  Finally  they  pitched  upon  "  Nearer, 
My  God,  to  Thee,"  as  the  only  song  which  they  all 
knew.  Selina  sang  the  "  alto,"  very  much  off  the 
key;  Marcus  intoned  the  bass,  scowling  fiercely, 
his  chin  drawn  into  his  collar.  They  sang  in  very 
slow  time.  The  song  became  a  dirge,  a  lamentable, 
prolonged  wail  of  distress : 
173 


McTeague 

"  Nee-rah,  my  Gahd,  to  Thee, 
Nee-rah  to  Thee-ah." 


At  the  end  of  the  song,  Uncle  Oelbermann  put 
on  his  hat  without  a  word  of  warning.  Instantly 
there  was  a  hush.  The  guests  rose. 

"Not  going  so  soon,  Uncle  Oelbermann?" 
protested  Trina,  politely.  He  only  nodded. 
Marcus  sprang  forward  to  help  him  with  his  over 
coat.  Mr.  Sieppe  came  up  and  the  two  men  shook 
hands. 

Then  Uncle  Oelbermann  delivered  himself  of  an 
oracular  phrase.  No  doubt  he  had  been  meditating 
it  during  the  supper.  Addressing  Mr.  Sieppe,  he 
said: 

"  You  have  not  lost  a  daughter,  but  have  gained 
a  son." 

These  were  the  only  words  he  had  spoken  the  en 
tire  evening.  He  departed;  the  company  was  pro 
foundly  impressed. 

About  twenty  minutes  later,  when  Marcus 
Schouler  was  entertaining  the  guests  by  eating 
almonds,  shells  and  all,  Mr.  Sieppe  started  to  his 
feet,  watch  in  hand. 

"  Haf-bast  elevun,"  he  shouted.  "Attention! 
Der  dime  haf  arrive,  shtop  eferyting.  We 
depart." 

This  was  a  signal  for  tremendous  confusion.  Mr. 
Sieppe  immediately  threw  off  his  previous  air  of 
relaxation,  the  calf's  head  was  forgotten,  he  was 
once  again  the  leader  of  vast  enterprises. 

"  To  me,  to  me,"  he  cried.  "  Mommer,  der 
tervins,  Owgooste."  He  marshalled  his  tribe  to- 
174 


McTeague 

gether,  with  tremendous  commanding  gestures. 
The  sleeping  twins  were  suddenly  shaken  into  a 
dazed  consciousness;  Owgooste,  whom  the  almond- 
eating  of  Marcus  Schouler  had  petrified  with  ad 
miration,  was  smacked  to  a  realization  of  his  sur 
roundings. 

Old  Grannis,  with  a  certain  delicacy  that  was  one 
of  his  characteristics,  felt  instinctively  that  the 
guests — the  mere  outsiders — should  depart  before 
the  family  began  its  leave-taking  of  Trina.  He 
withdrew  unobtrusively,  after  a  hasty  good-night 
to  the  bride  and  groom.  The  rest  followed  almost 
immediately. 

"Well,  Mr.  Sieppe/'  exclaimed  Marcus,  "we 
won't  see  each  other  for  some  time."  Marcus  had 
given  up  his  first  intention  of  joining  in  the  Sieppe 
migration,  lie  spoke  in  a  large  way  of  certain 
affairs  that  would  keep  him  in  San  Francisco  till 
the  fall.  Of  late  he  had  entertained  ambitions  of 
a  ranch  life,  he  would  breed  cattle,  he  had  a  little 
money  and  was  only  looking  for  some  one  "  to  go 
in  with."  He  dreamed  of  a  cowboy's  life  and  saw 
himself  in  an  entrancing  vision  involving  silver 
spurs  and  untamed  bronchos.  He  told  himself  that 
Trina  had  cast  him  off,  that  his  best  friend  had 
"  played  him  for  a  sucker,"  that  the  "  proper  caper  " 
was  to  withdraw  from  the  world  entirely. 

"  If  you  hear  of  anybody  down  there,"  he  went 
on,  speaking  to  Mr.  Sieppe,  "  that  wants  to  go  in 
for  ranching,  why  just  let  me  know." 

"  Soh,  soli,"  answered  Mr.  Sieppe  abstractedly, 
peering  about  for  Owgooste's  cap. 

Marcus    bade    the    Sieppes    farewell.      He    and 


McTeague 

Heise  went  out  together.  One  heard  them,  as  they 
descended  the  stairs,  discussing  the  possibility  of 
Frenna's  place  being  still  open. 

Then  Miss  Baker  departed  after  kissing  Trina 
on  both  cheeks.  Selina  went  with  her.  There  was 
only  the  family  left. 

Trina  watched  them  go,  one  by  one,  with  an  in 
creasing  feeling  of  uneasiness  and  vague  apprehen 
sion.  Soon  they  would  all  be  gone. 

"  Well,  Trina,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sieppe,  "  goot-py; 
perhaps  you  gome  visit  us  somedime." 

Mrs.  Sieppe  began  crying  again. 

"Ach,  Trina,  ven  shall  I  efer  see  you  again?" 

Tears  came  to  Trina's  eyes  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  put  her  arms  around  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  sometime,  sometime,"  she  cried.  The 
twins  and  Owgooste  clung  to  Trina's  skirts,  fretting 
and  whimpering. 

McTeague  was  miserable.  He  stood  apart  from 
the  group,  in  a  corner.  None  of  them  seemed  to 
think  of  him;  he  was  not  one  of  them. 

"  Write  to  me  very  often,  mamma,  and  tell  me 
about  everything — about  August  and  the  twins." 

"  It  is  dime,"  cried  Mr.  Sieppe,  nervously.  "  Goot- 
py,  Trina.  Mommer,  Owgooste,  say  goot-py,  den 
we  must  go.  Goot-py,  Trina."  He  kissed  her. 
Owgooste  and  the  twins  were  lifted  up.  "  Gome, 
gome,"  insisted  Mr.  Sieppe,  moving  toward  the 
door. 

"  Goot-py,  Trina,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sieppe,  crying 
harder  than  ever.  "  Doktor — where  is  der  doktor 
— Doktor,  pe  goot  to  her,  eh?  pe  vairy  goot,  eh, 
won't  you?  Zum  day,  Dokter,  you  vill  haf  a 


McTeague 

daughter,    den    you    know    berhaps    how    I    feel, 
yes." 

They  were  standing  at  the  door  by  this  time.  Mr. 
Sieppe,  half  way  down  the  stairs,  kept  calling 
"  Gome,  gome,  we  miss  der  drain." 

Mrs.  Sieppe  released  Trina  and  started  down  the 
hall,  the  twins  and  Owgooste  following.  Trina 
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  after  them  through 
her  tears.  They  were  going,  going.  When  would 
she  ever  see  them  again?  She  was  to  be  left  alone 
with  this  man  to  whom  she  had  just  been  married. 
A  sudden  vague  terror  seized  her;  she  left  Mc 
Teague  and  ran  down  the  hall  and  caught  her 
mother  around  the  neck. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  go,"  she  whispered  in  her 
mother's  ear,  sobbing.  "  Oh,  mamma,  I — I'm 
'fraid." 

"  Ach,  Trina,  you  preak  my  heart.  Don't  gry, 
poor  leetle  girl."  She  rocked  Trina  in  her  arms  as 
though  she  were  a  child  again.  "  Poor  leetle  scairt 
girl,  don'  gry — soh — soh — soh,  dere's  nuttun  to  pe 
'fraid  oaf.  Dere,  go  to  your  hoasban'.  Listen, 
popper's  galling  again;  go  den;  goot-by." 

She  loosened  Trina's  arms  and  started  down  the 
stairs.  Trina  leaned  over  the  banisters,  straining 
her  eyes  after  her  mother. 

"  What  is  ut,  Trina?  " 

"  Oh,  good-by,  good-by." 

"  Gome,  gome,  we  miss  der  drain." 

"  Mamma,  oh,  mamma!  " 

"  What  is  ut,  Trina?" 

"  Good-by." 

"  Goot-py,  leetle  daughter." 
12  177 


McTeague 

"  Good-by,  good-by,  good-by." 

The  street  door  closed.  The  silence  was  pro 
found. 

For  another  moment  Trina  stood  leaning  over 
the  banisters,  looking  down  into  the  empty  stair 
way.  It  was  dark.  There  was  nobody.  They — 
her  father,  her  mother,  the  children — had  left  her, 
left  her  alone.  She  faced  about  toward  the  rooms 
— faced  her  husband,  faced  her  new  home,  the  new 
life  that  was  to  begin  now. 

The  hall  was  empty  and  deserted.  The  great 
flat  around  her  seemed  new  and  huge  and 
strange;  she  felt  horribly  alone.  Even  Maria  and 
the  hired  waiter  were  gone.  On  one  of  the  floors 
above  she  heard  a  baby  crying.  She  stood  there  an 
instant  in  the  dark  hall,  in  her  wedding  finery,  look 
ing  about  her,  listening.  From  the  open  door  of 
the  sitting-room  streamed  a  gold  bar  of  light. 

She  went  down  the  hall,  by  the  open  door  of  the 
sitting-room,  going  on  toward  the  hall  door  of  the 
bedroom. 

As  she  softly  passed  the  sitting-room  she  glanced 
hastily  in.  The  lamps  and  the  gas  were  burning 
brightly,  the  chairs  were  pushed  back  from  the 
table  just  as  the  guests  had  left  them,  and  the  table 
itself,  abandoned,  deserted,  presented  to  view  the 
vague  confusion  of  its  dishes,  its  knives  and  forks, 
its  empty  platters  and  crumpled  napkins.  The 
dentist  sat  there  leaning  on  his  elbows,  his  back 
toward  her;  against  the  white  blur  of  the  table  he 
looked  colossal.  Above  his  giant  shoulders  rose  his 
thick,  red  neck  and  mane  of  yellow  hair.  The  light 
shone  pink  through  the  gristle  of  his  enormous  ears. 

178 


McTeague 

Trina  entered  the  bedroom,  closing  the  door  after 
her.  At  the  sound,  she  heard  McTeague  start  and 
rise. 

"Is  that  you,  Trina?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  paused  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  holding  her  breath,  trembling. 

The  dentist  crossed  the  outside  room,  parted 
the  chenille  portieres,  and  came  in.  He  came 
toward  her  quickly,  making  as  if  to  take  her  in  his 
arms.  His  eyes  were  alight. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Trina,  shrinking  from  him. 
Suddenly  seized  with  the  fear  of  him — the  intuitive 
feminine  fear  of  the  male — her  whole  being  quailed 
before  him.  She  was  terrified  at  his  huge,  square- 
cut  head;  his  powerful,  salient  jaw;  his  huge,  red 
hands;  his  enormous,  resistless  strength. 

"  No,  no — I'm  afraid,"  she  cried,  drawing  back 
from  him  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"Afraid?"  answered  the  dentist  in  perplexity. 
"  What  are  you  afraid  of,  Trina?  I'm  not  going  to 
hurt  you.  What  are  you  afraid  of?  " 

What,  indeed,  was  Trina  afraid  of?  She  could 
not  tell.  But  what  did  she  know  of  McTeague, 
after  all?  Who  was  this  man  that  had  come  into  her 
life,  who  had  taken  her  from  her  home  and  from 
her  parents,  and  with  whom  she  was  now  left  alone 
here  in  this  strange,  vast  flat? 

"  Oh,  I'm  afraid.     I'm  afraid,"  she  cried. 

McTeague  came  nearer,  sat  down  beside  her  and 
put  one  arm  around  her. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of,  Trina?  "  he  said,  re 
assuringly.  "  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you." 

She  looked  at  him  wildly,  her  adorable  little  chin 
179 


McTeague 

quivering,  the  tears  brimming  in  her  narrow  blue 
eyes.  Then  her  glance  took  on  a  certain  intentness, 
and  she  peered  curiously  into  his  face,  saying  al 
most  in  a  whisper: 

"  I'm  afraid  of  you." 

But  the  dentist  did  not  heed  her.  An  immense 
joy  seized  upon  him — the  joy  of  possession.  Trina 
was  his  very  own  now.  She  lay  there  in  the  hollow 
of  his  arm,  helpless  and  very  pretty. 

Those  instincts  that  in  him  were  so  close  to  the 
surface  suddenly  leaped  to  life,  shouting  and  clam 
oring,  not  to  be  resisted.  He  loved  her.  Ah,  did 
he  not  love  her?  The  smell  of  her  hair,  of  her  neck, 
rose  to  him. 

Suddenly  he  caught  her  in  both  his  huge  arms, 
crushing  down  her  struggle  with  his  immense 
strength,  kissing  her  full  upon  the  mouth.  Then 
her  great  love  for  McTeague  suddenly  flashed  up  in 
Trina's  breast;  she  gave  up  to  him  as  she  had  done 
before,  yielding  all  at  once  to  that  strange  desire 
of  being  conquered  and  subdued.  She  clung  to 
him,  her  hands  clasped  behind  his  neck,  whispering 
in  his  ear: 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  good  to  me — very,  very  good 
to  me,  dear — for  you're  all  that  I  have  in  the  world 


180 


That  summer  passed,  then  the  winter.  The  wet 
season  began  in  the  last  days  of  September  and  con 
tinued  all  through  October,  November,  and  Decem 
ber.  At  long  intervals  would  come  a  week  of  perfect 
days,  the  sky  without  a  cloud,  the  air  motionless, 
but  touched  with  a  certain  nimbleness,  a  faint  effer 
vescence  that  was  exhilarating.  Then,  without 
warning,  during  a  night  when  a  south  wind  blew, 
a  gray  scroll  of  cloud  would  unroll  and  hang  high 
over  the  city,  and  the  rain  would  come  pattering 
down  again,  at  first  in  scattered  showers,  then  in  an 
uninterrupted  drizzle. 

All  day  long  Trina  sat  in  the  bay  window  of  the 
sitting-room  that  commanded  a  view  of  a  small 
section  of  Polk  Street.  As  often  as  she  raised  her 
head  she  could  see  the  big  market,  a  confectionery 
store,  a  bell-hanger's  shop,  and,  farther  on,  above 
the  roofs,  the  glass  skylights  and  water  tanks  of 
the  big  public  baths.  In  the  nearer  foreground  ran 
the  street  itself;  the  cable  cars  trundled  up  and 
down,  thumping  heavily  over  the  joints  of  the  rails; 
market  carts  by  the  score  came  and  went,  driven  at 
a  great  rate  by  preoccupied  young  men  in  their 
shirt  sleeves,  with  pencils  behind  their  ears,  or  by 
reckless  boys  in  blood-stained  butcher's  aprons. 
Upon  the  sidewalks  the  little  world  of  Polk  Street 
swarmed  and  jostled  through  its  daily  round  of  life. 
r8i 


Me  league 

On  fine  days  the  great  ladies  from  the  avenue,  one 
block  above,  invaded  the  street,  appearing  before 
the  butcher  stalls,  intent  upon  cheir  day's  market 
ing.  On  rainy  days  their  servants — the  Chinese 
cooks  or  the  second  girls — took  their  places.  These 
servants  gave  themselves  great  airs,  carrying  their 
big  cotton  umbrellas  as  they  had  seen  their  mis 
tresses  carry  their  parasols,  and  haggling  in  super 
cilious  fashion  with  the  market  men,  their  chins  in 
the  air. 

The  rain  persisted.  Everything  in  the  range  of 
Trina's  vision,  from  the  tarpaulins  on  the  market- 
cart  horses  to  the  panes  of  glass  in  the  roof  of  the 
public  baths,  looked  glazed  and  varnished.  The 
asphalt  of  the  sidewalks  shone  like  the  surface  of  a 
patent  leather  boot;  every  hollow  in  the  street  held 
its  little  puddle,  that  winked  like  an  eye  each  time  a 
drop  of  rain  struck  into  it. 

Trina  still  continued  to  work  for  Uncle  Oelber- 
mann.  In  the  mornings  she  busied  herself  about 
the  kitchen,  the  bedroom,  and  the  sitting-room;  but 
in  the  afternoon,  for  two  or  three  hours  after  lunch, 
she  was  occupied  with  the  Noah's  ark  animals.  She 
took  her  work  to  the  bay  window,  spreading  out  a 
great  square  of  canvas  underneath  her  chair,  to 
catch  the  chips  and  shavings,  which  she  used  after 
wards  for  lighting  fires.  One  after  another  she 
caught  up  the  little  blocks  of  straight-grained  pine, 
the  knife  flashed  between  her  fingers,  the  little 
figure  grew  rapidly  under  her  touch,  was  finished 
and  ready  for  painting  in  a  wonderfully  short  time, 
and  was  tossed  into  the  basket  that  stood  at  her 
elbow. 
"X  182 


McTengue 

But  very  often  during  that  rainy  winter  after  her 
marriage  Trina  would  pause  in  her  work,  her  hands 
falling  idly  into  her  lap,  her  eyes — her  narrow,  pale 
blue  eyes — growing  wide  and  thoughtful  as  she 
gazed,  unseeing,  out  into  the  rain-washed  street. 

She  loved  McTeague  now  with  a  blind,  unreason 
ing  love  that  admitted  of  no  doubt  or  hesitancy. 
Indeed,  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  only  after  her 
marriage  with  the  dentist  that  she  had  really  begun 
to  love  him.  With  the  absolute  final  surrender  of 
herself,  the  irrevocable,  ultimate  submission,  had 
come  an  affection  the  like  of  which  she  had  never 
dreamed  in  the  old  B  Street  days.  But  Trina 
loved  her  husband,  not  because  she  fancied  she  saw 
in  him  any  of  those  noble  and  generous  qualities 
that  inspire  affection.  The  dentist  might  or  might 
not  possess  them,  it  was  all  one  with  Trina.  She 
loved  him  because  she  had  given  herself  to  him 
freely,  unreservedly;  had  merged  her  individuality 
into  his;  she  was  his,  she  belonged  to  him  forever 
and  forever.  Nothing  that  he  could  do  (so  she  told 
herself),  nothing  that  she  herself  could  do,  could 
change  her  in  this  respect.  McTeague  might  cea?e 
to  love  her,  might  leave  her,  might  even  die;  it 
would  be  all  the  same,  she  was  his. 

But  it  had  not  been  so  at  first.  During  those 
long,  rainy  days  of  the  fall,  days  when  Trina  was 
left  alone  for  hours,  at  that  time  when  the  excite 
ment  and  novelty  of  the  honeymoon  were  dying 
clown,  when  the  new  household  was  settling  into  its 
grooves,  she  passed  through  many  an  hour  of  mis 
giving,  of  doubt,  and  even  of  actual  regret. 

Never  would  she  forget  one  Sunday  afternoon 
183 


McTeague 

in  particular.  She  had  been  married  but  three 
weeks.  After  dinner  she  and  little  Miss  Baker  had 
gone  for  a  bit  of  a  walk  to  take  advantage  of  an 
hour's  sunshine  and  to  look  at  some  wonderful 
geraniums  in  a  florist's  window  on  Sutter  Street. 
They  had  been  caught  in  a  shower,  and  on  return 
ing  to  the  flat  the  little  dressmaker  had  insisted  on 
fetching  Trina  up  to  her  tiny  room  and  brewing  her 
a  cup  of  strong  tea,  "  to  take  the  chill  off."  The 
two  women  had  chatted  over  their  teacups  the 
better  part  of  the  afternoon,  then  Trina  had  re 
turned  to  her  rooms.  For  nearly  three  hours  Mc 
Teague  had  been  out  of  her  thoughts,  and  as  she 
came  through  their  little  suite,  singing  softly  to 
herself,  she  suddenly  came  upon  him  quite  unex 
pectedly.  Her  husband  was  in  the  "  Dental  Parlors," 
lying  back  in  his  operating  chair,  fast  asleep.  The 
little  stove  was  crammed  with  coke,  the  room  was 
overheated,  the  air  thick  and  foul  with  the  odors  of 
ether,  of  coke  gas,  of  stale  beer  and  cheap  to 
bacco.  The  dentist  sprawled  his  gigantic  limbs 
over  the  worn  velvet  of  the  operating  chair;  his  coat 
and  vest  and  shoes  were  off,  and  his  huge  feet,  in 
their  thick  gray  socks,  dangled  over  the  edge  of  the 
foot-rest;  his  pipe,  fallen  from  his  half-open  mouth, 
had  spilled  the  ashes  into  his  lap;  while  on  the  floor, 
at  his  side,  stood  the  half-empty  pitcher  of  steam 
beer.  His  head  had  rolled  limply  upon  one  shoul 
der,  his  face  was  red  with  sleep,  and  from  his  open 
mouth  came  a  terrific  sound  of  snoring. 

For  a  moment  Trina  stood  looking  at  him  as  he 
lay  thus,  prone,  inert,  half-dressed,  and  stupefied 
with  the  heat  of  the  room,  the  steam  beer,  and  the 
184 


McTcague 

fumes  of  the  cheap  tobacco.  Then  her  little  chin 
quivered  and  a  sob  rose  to  her  throat;  she  fled  from 
the  "  Parlors,"  and  locking  herself  in  her  bedroom, 
flung  herself  on  the  bed  and  burst  into  an  agony  of 
weeping.  Ah,  no,  ah,  no,  she  could  not  love  him. 
It  had  all  been  a  dreadful  mistake,  and  now  it  was 
irrevocable;  she  was  bound  to  this  man  for  life. 
If  it  was  as  bad  as  this  now,  only  three  weeks  after 
her  marriage,  how  would  it  be  in  the  years  to  come? 
Year  after  year,  month  after  month,  hour  after  hour, 
she  was  to  see  this  same  face,  with  its  salient  jaw, 
was  to  feel  the  touch  of  those  enormous  red  hands, 
was  to  hear  the  heavy,  elephantine  tread  of  those 
huge  feet — in  thick  gray  socks.  Year  after  year, 
day  after  day,  there  would  be  no  change,  and  it 
would  last  all  her  life.  Either  it  would  be  one 
long  continued  revulsion,  or  else — worse  than  all — 
she  would  come  to  be  content  with  him,  would 
come  to  be  like  him,  would  sink  to  the  level  of 
steam  beer  and  cheap  tobacco,  and  all  her  pretty 
ways,  her  clean,  trim  little  habits,  would  be  forgot 
ten,  since  they  would  be  thrown  away  upon  her 
stupid,  brutish  husband.  "Her  husband!"  Thai, 
was  her  husband  in  there — she  could  yet  hear  his 
snores — for  life,  for  life.  A  great  despair  seized 
upon  her.  She  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and 
thought  of  her  mother  with  an  infinite  longing. 

Aroused  at  length  by  the  chittering  of  the  canary, 
McTeague  had  awakened  slowly.  After  a  while  he 
had  taken  down  his  concertina  and  played  upon  it 
the  six  very  mournful  airs  that  he  knew. 

Face  downward  upon  the  bed,  Trina  still  wept. 
Throughout  that  little  suite  could  be  heard  but 
185 


McTeague 

two  sounds,  the  lugubrious  strains  of  the  concertina 
and  the  noise  of  stifled  weeping. 

That  her  husband  should  be  ignorant  of  her  dis 
tress  seemed  to  Trina  an  additional  grievance. 
With  perverse  inconsistency  she  began  to  wish  him 
to  come  to  her,  to  comfort  her.  He  ought  to  know 
that  she  was  in  trouble,  that  she  was  lonely  and 
unhappy. 

"  Oh,  Mac,"  she  called  in  a  trembling  voice.  But 
the  concertina  still  continued  to  wail  and  lament. 
Then  Trina  wished  she  were  dead,  and  on  the  in 
stant  jumped  up  and  ran  into  the  "  Dental  Parlors," 
and  threw  herself  into  her  husband's  arms,  crying: 
"  Oh,  Mac,  dear,  love  me,  love  me  big!  I'm  so 
unhappy." 

"  What — what — what — "  the  dentist  exclaimed, 
starting  up  bewildered,  a  little  frightened. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  only  love  me,  love  me  always 
and  always." 

But  this  first  crisis,  this  momentary  revolt,  as 
much  a  matter  of  high-strung  feminine  nerves  as  of 
anything  else,  passed,  and  in  the  end  Trina's  affec 
tion  for  her  "  old  bear  "  grew  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  began  to  love  him  more  and  more,  not  for  what 
he  was,  but  for  what  she  had  given  up  to  him.  Only 
once  again  did  Trina  undergo  a  reaction  against 
her  husband,  and  then  it  was  but  the  matter  of  an 
instant,  brought  on,  curiously  enough,  by  the  sight 
of  a  bit  of  egg  on  McTeague's  heavy  mustache  one 
morning  just  after  breakfast. 

Then,  too,  the  pair  had  learned  to  make  conces 
sions,  little  by  little,  and  all  unconsciously  they 
adapted  their  modes  of  life  to  suit  each  other.  In- 
1 86 


McTeague 

stead  of  sinking  to  McTeague's  level  as  she  had 
feared,  Trina  found  that  she  could  make  McTeague 
rise  to  hers,  and  in  this  saw  a  solution  of  many  a 
difficult  and  gloomy  complication. 

For  one  thing,  the  dentist  began  to  dress  a  little 
better,  Trina  even  succeeding  in  inducing  him  to 
wear  a  high  silk  hat  and  a  frock  coat  of  a  Sunday. 
Next  he  relinquished  his  Sunday  afternoon's  nap 
and  beer  in  favor  of  three  or  four  hours  spent  in 
the  park  with  her — the  weather  permitting.  So 
that  gradually  Trina's  misgivings  ceased,  or  when 
they  did  assail  her,  she  could  at  last  meet  them 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  saying  to  herself 
meanwhile,  "  Well,  it's  done  now  and  it  can't  be 
helped;  one  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

During  the  first  months  of  their  married  life 
these  nervous  relapses  of  hers  had  alternated  with 
brusque  outbursts  of  affection  when  her  only  fear 
was  that  her  husband's  love  did  not  equal  her  own. 
Without  an  instant's  warning,  she  would  clasp  him 
about  the  neck,  rubbing  her  cheek  against  his,  mur 
muring: 

"  Dear  old  Mac,  I  love  you  so,  I  love  you  so. 
Oh,  aren't  we  happy  together,  Mac,  just  us  two  and 
no  one  else?  You  love  me  as  much  as  I  love  you, 
don't  you,  Mac?  Oh,  if  you  shouldn't — if  you 
shouldn't" 

But  by  the  middle  of  the  winter  Trina's  emotions, 
oscillating  at  first  from  one  extreme  to  another, 
commenced  to  settle  themselves  to  an  equilibrium  of 
calmness  and  placid  quietude.  Her  household 
duties  began  more  and  more  to  absorb  her  atten 
tion,  for  she  was  an  admirable  housekeeper,  keep- 
187 


McTeague 

ing  the  little  suite  in  marvellous  good  order  and 
regulating  the  schedule  of  expenditure  with  an 
economy  that  often  bordered  on  positive  niggard 
liness.  It  was  a  passion  with  her  to  save  money. 
In  the  bottom  of  her  trunk,  in  the  bedroom,  she  hid 
a  brass  match-safe  that  answered  the  purposes  of  a 
savings  bank.  Each  time  she  added  a  quarter  or 
a  half  dollar  to  the  little  store  she  laughed  and 
sang  with  a  veritable  childish  delight;  whereas,  if 
the  butcher  or  milkman  compelled  her  to  pay  an 
overcharge  she  was  unhappy  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
She  did  not  save  this  money  for  any  ulterior  pur 
pose,  she  hoarded  instinctively,  without  knowing 
why,  responding  to  the  dentist's  remonstrances 
with: 

:<  Yes,  yes,  I  know  I'm  a  little  miser,  I  know  it." 
Trina  had  always  been  an  economical  little  body, 
but  it  was  only  since  her  great  winning  in  the  lot 
tery  that  she  had  become  especially  penurious.  No 
doubt,  in  her  fear  lest  their  great  good  luck  should 
demoralize  them  and  lead  to  habits  of  extravagance, 
she  had  recoiled  too  far  in  the  other  direction. 
Never,  never,  never  should  a  penny  of  that  miracu 
lous  fortune  be  spent;  rather  should  it  be  added  to. 
It  was  a  nest  egg,  a  monstrous,  roc-like  nest  egg, 
not  so  large,  however,  but  that  it  could  be  made 
larger.  Already  by  the  end  of  that  winter  Trina 
had  begun  to  make  up  the  deficit  of  two  hundred 
dollars  that  she  had  been  forced  to  expend  on  the 
preparations  for  her  marriage. 

McTeague,  on  his  part,  never  asked  himself  now- 
a-days  whether  he  loved  Trina  the  wife  as  much 
as  he  had  loved  Trina  the  young  girl.  There  had 

188 


McTeague 

been  a  time  when  to  kiss  Trina,  to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  had  thrilled  him  from  head  to  heel  with  a 
happiness  that  was  beyond  words;  even  the  smell 
of  her  wonderful  odorous  hair  had  sent  a  sensation 
of  faintness  all  through  him.  That  time  was  long 
past  now.  Those  sudden  outbursts  of  affection  on 
the  part  of  his  little  woman,  outbursts  that  only  in 
creased  in  vehemence  the  longer  they  lived  to 
gether,  puzzled  rather  than  pleased  him.  He  had 
come  to  submit  to  them  good-naturedly,  answering 
her  passionate  inquiries  with  a  "  Sure,  sure,  Trina, 
sure  I  love  you.  What — what's  the  matter  with 
you?  " 

There  was  no  passion  in  the  dentist's  regard  for 
his  wife.  He  dearly  liked  to  have  her  near  him,  he 
took  an  enormous  pleasure  in  watching  her  as  she 
moved  about  their  rooms,  very  much  at  home,  gay 
and  singing  from  morning  till  night;  and  it  was  his 
great  delight  to  call  her  into  the  "  Dental  Parlors  " 
when  a  patient  was  in  the  chair  and,  while  he  held 
the  plugger,  to  have  her  rap  in  the  gold  fillings  with 
the  little  box-wood  mallet  as  he  had  taught  her. 
But  that  tempest  of  passion,  that  overpowering  de 
sire  that  had  suddenly  taken  possession  of  him  that 
day  when  he  had  given  her  ether,  again  when  he 
had  caught  her  in  his  arms  in  the  B  Street  station, 
and  again  and  again  during  the  early  days  of  their 
married  life,  rarely  stirred  him  now.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  was  never  assailed  with  doubts  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  his  marriage. 

McTeague  had  relapsed  to  his  wonted  stolidity. 
He  never  questioned  himself,  never  looked  for 
motives,  never  went  to  the  bottom  of  things.  The 
189 


McTeague 

year  following  upon  the  summer  of  his  marriage 
was  a  time  of  great  contentment  for  him;  after  the 
novelty  of  the  honeymoon  had  passed  he  slipped 
easily  into  the  new  order  of  things  without  a  ques 
tion.  Thus  his  life  would  be  for  years  to  come. 
Trina  was  there;  he  was  married  and  settled.  He 
accepted  the  situation.  The  little  animal  comforts 
which  for  him  constituted  the  enjoyment  of  life 
were  ministered  to  at  every  turn,  or  when  they  were 
interfered  with — as  in  the  case  of  his  Sunday  after 
noon's  nap  and  beer — some  agreeable  substitute 
was  found.  In  her  attempts  to  improve  McTeague 
— to  raise  him  from  the  stupid  animal  life  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  in  his  bachelor  days — 
Trina  was  tactful  enough  to  move  so  cautiously  and 
with  such  slowness  that  the  dentist  was  unconscious 
of  any  process  of  change.  In  the  matter  of  the  high 
silk  hat,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  initiative  had 
come  from  himself. 

Gradually  the  dentist  improved  under  the  influ 
ence  of  his  little  wife.  He  no  longer  went  abroad 
with  frayed  cuffs  about  his  huge  red  wrists — 01 
worse,  without  any  cuffs  at  all.  Trina  kept  his 
linen  clean  and  mended,  doing  most  of  his  washing 
herself,  and  insisting  that  he  should  change  his 
flannels — thick  red  flannels  they  were,  with  enor 
mous  bone  buttons — once  a  week,  his  linen  shirts 
twice  a  week,  and  his  collars  and  cuffs  every  second 
day.  She  broke  him  of  the  habit  of  eating  with 
his  knife,  she  caused  him  to  substitute  bottled  beer 
in  the  place  of  steam  beer,  and  she  induced  him  to 
take  off  his  hat  to  Miss  Baker,  to  Heise's  wife,  and 
to  the  other  women  of  his  acquaintance.  Me- 
190 


McTeague 

Teague  no  longer  spent  an  evening  at  Frenna's. 
Instead  of  this  'he  brought  a  couple  of  bottles  of 
beer  up  to  the  rooms  and  shared  it  with  Trina.  In 
his  "  Parlors  "  he  was  no  longer  gruff  and  indiffer 
ent  to  his  female  patients;  he  arrived  at  that  stage 
where  he  could  work  and  talk  to  them  at  the  same 
time;  he  even  accompanied  them  to  the  door,  and 
held  it  open  for  them  when  the  operation  was  fin 
ished,  bowing  them  out  with  great  nods  of  his  huge 
square-cut  head. 

Besides  all  this,  he  began  to  observe  the  broader, 
larger  interests  of  life,  interests  that  affected  him 
not  as  an  individual,  but  as  a  member  of  a  class,  a 
profession,  or  a  political  party.  He  read  the  papers, 
he  subscribed  to  a  dental  magazine;  on  Easter, 
Christmas,  and  New  Year's  he  went  to  church  with 
Trina.  He  commenced  to  have  opinions,  convic 
tions — it  was  not  fair  to  deprive  tax-paying  women 
of  the  privilege  to  vote;  a  university  education 
should  not  be  a  prerequisite  for  admission  to  a 
dental  college;  the  Catholic  priests  were  to  be  re 
strained  in  their  efforts  to  gain  control  of  the  public 
schools. 

But  most  wonderful  of  all,  McTeague  began  to 
have  ambitions — very  vague,  very  confused  ideas  of 
something  better — ideas  for  the  most  part  borrowed 
from  Trina.  Some  day,  perhaps,  he  and  his  wife 
would  have  a  house  of  their  own.  What  a  dream! 
A  little  home  all  to  themselves,  with  six  rooms  and 
a  bath,  with  a  grass  plat  in  front  and  calla-lilies. 
Then  there  would  be  children.  He  would  have  a 
son,  whose  name  would  be  Daniel,  who  would  go 
to  High  School,  and  perhaps  turn  out  to  be  a  pros- 
191 


McTeague 

perous  plumber  or  house  painter.  Then  this  son 
Daniel  would  marry  a  wife,  and  they  would  all  live 
together  in  that  six-room-and-bath  house;  Daniel 
would  have  little  children.  McTeague  would  grow 
old  among  them  all.  The  dentist  saw  'himself  as  a 
venerable  patriarch  surrounded  by  children  and 
grandchildren. 

So  the  winter  passed.  It  was  a  season  of  great 
happiness  for  the  McTeagues;  the  new  life  jostled 
itself  into  its  grooves.  A  routine  began. 

On  week-days  they  rose  at  half-past  six,  being 
awakened  by  the  boy  who  brought  the  bottled  milk, 
and  who  had  instructions  to  pound  upon  the  bed 
room  door  in  passing.  Trina  made  breakfast — 
coffee,  bacon  and  eggs,  and  a  roll  of  Vienna  bread 
from  the  bakery.  The  breakfast  was  eaten  in  the 
kitchen,  on  the  round  deal  table  covered  with  the 
shiny  oilcloth  table-spread  tacked  on.  After  break 
fast  the  dentist  immediately  betook  himself  to  his 
"  Parlors  "  to  meet  his  early  morning  appointments 
— those  made  with  the  clerks  and  shop  girls  who 
stopped  in  for  half  an  hour  on  their  way  to  their 
work. 

Trina,  meanwhile,  busied  herself  about  the 
suite,  clearing  away  the  breakfast,  sponging  off 
the  oilcloth  table-spread,  making  the  bed,  potter 
ing  about  with  a  broom  or  duster  or  cleaning  rag. 
Towards  ten  o'clock  she  opened  the  windows  to  air 
the  rooms,  then  put  on  her  drab  jacket,  her  little 
round  turban  with  its  red  wing,  took  the  butcher's 
and  grocer's  books  from  the  knife  basket  in  the 
drawer  of  the  kitchen  table,  and  descended  to  the 
street,  where  she  spent  a  delicious  hour — now  in  the 

IQ2 


McTeague 

huge  market  across  the  way,  now  in  the  grocer's 
store  with  its  fragrant  aroma  of  coffee  and  spices, 
and  now  before  the  counters  of  the  haberdasher's, 
intent  on  a  bit  of  shopping,  turning  over  ends  of 
veiling,  strips  of  elastic,  or  slivers  of  whalebone. 
On  the  street  she  rubbed  elbows  with  the  great 
ladies  of  the  avenue  in  their  beautiful  dresses,  or  at 
intervals  she  met  an  acquaintance  or  two — Miss 
Baker,  or  Heise's  lame  wife,  or  Mrs.  Ryer.  At 
times  she  passed  the  flat  and  looked  up  at  the  win 
dows  of  her  home,  marked  by  the  huge  golden 
molar  that  projected,  flashing,  from  the  bay  window 
of  the  "  Parlors."  She  saw  the  open  windows  of 
the  sitting-room,  the  Nottingham  lace  curtains  stir 
ring  and  billowing  in  the  draft,  and  she  caught 
sight  of  Maria  Macapa's  towelled  head  as  the  Mexi 
can  maid-of-all-work  went  to  and  fro  in  the  suite, 
sweeping  or  carrying  away  the  ashes.  Occasion 
ally  in  the  windows  of  the  "  Parlors  "  she  beheld 
McTeague's  rounded  back  as  he  bent  to  his  work. 
Sometimes,  even,  they  saw  each  other  and  waved 
their  hands  gayly  in  recognition. 

By  eleven  o'clock  Trina  returned  to  the  flat,  her 
brown  net  reticule — once  her  mother's — full  of  par 
cels.  At  once  she  set  about  getting  lunch — sau 
sages,  perhaps,  with  mashed  potatoes;  or  last  even 
ing's  joint  warmed  over  or  made  into  a  stew;  choco 
late,  which  Trina  adored,  and  a  side  dish  or  two — 
a  salted  herring  or  a  couple  of  artichokes  or  a  salad. 
At  half-past  twelve  the  dentist  came  in  from  the 
"  Parlors,"  bringing  with  him  the  smell  of  creosote 
and  of  ether.  They  sat  down  to  lunch  in  the  sitting- 
room.  They  told  each  other  of  their  doings 
13  193 


McTeague 

throughout  the  forenoon;  Trina  showed  her  pur 
chases,  McTeague  recounted  the  progress  of  an 
operation.  At  one  o'clock  they  separated,  the  den 
tist  returning  to  the  "  Parlors,"  Trina  settling  to  her 
work  on  the  Noah's  ark  animals.  At  about  three 
o'clock  she  put  this  work  away,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  was  variously  occupied — sometimes 
it  was  the  mending,  sometimes  the  wash,  sometimes 
new  curtains  to  be  put  up,  or  a  bit  of  carpet  to  be 
tacked  down,  or  a  letter  to  be  written,  or  a  visit — 
generally  to  Miss  Baker — to  be  returned.  Towards 
five  o'clock  the  old  woman  whom  they  had  hired 
for  that  purpose  came  to  cook  supper,  for  even 
Trina  was  not  equal  to  the  task  of  preparing  three 
meals  a  day. 

This  woman  was  French,  and  was  known  to  the 
flat  as  Augustine,  no  one  taking  enough  interest 
in  her  to  inquire  for  her  last  name;  all  that  was 
known  of  her  was  that  she  was  a  decayed  French 
laundress,  miserably  poor,  her  trade  long  since 
ruined  by  Chinese  competition.  Augustine  cooked 
well,  but  she  was  otherwise  undesirable,  and  Trina 
lost  patience  with  her  at  every  moment.  The  old 
French  woman's  most  marked  characteristic  was 
her  timidity.  Trina  could  scarcely  address  her  a 
simple  direction  without  Augustine  quailing  and 
shrinking;  a  reproof,  however  gentle,  threw  her 
into  an  agony  of  confusion;  while  Trina's  anger 
promptly  reduced  her  to  a  state  of  nervous  collapse, 
wherein  she  lost  all  power  of  speech,  while  her  head 
began  to  bob  and  nod  with  an  incontrollable  twitch 
ing  of  the  muscles,  much  like  the  oscillations  of  the 
head  of  a  toy  donkey.  Her  timidity  was  exasper- 
194 


McTeague 

ating,  her  very  presence  in  the  room  unstrung  the 
nerves,  while  her  morbid  eagerness  to  avoid  offence 
only  served  to  develop  in  her  a  clumsiness  that  was 
at  times  beyond  belief.  More  than  once  Trina  had 
decided  that  she  could  no  longer  put  up  with  Au 
gustine,  but  each  time  she  had  retained  her  as  she 
reflected  upon  her  admirably  cooked  cabbage  soups 
and  tapioca  puddings,  and — which  in  Trina's  eyes 
was  her  chiefest  recommendation — the  pittance  for 
which  she  was  contented  to  work. 

Augustine  had  a  husband.  He  was  a  spirit- 
medium — a  "  professor."  At  times  he  held  seances 
in  the  larger  rooms  of  the  flat,  playing  vigorously 
upon  a  mouth-organ  and  invoking  a  familiar  whom 
he  called  "  Edna,"  and  whom  he  asserted  was  an 
Indian  maiden. 

The  evening  was  a  period  of  relaxation  for  Trina 
and  McTeague.  They  had  supper  at  six,  after 
which  McTeague  smoked  his  pipe  and  read  the* 
papers  for  half  an  hour,  while  Trina  and  Augus 
tine  cleared  away  the  table  and  washed  the  dishes. 
Then,  as  often  as  not,  they  went  out  together.  One 
of  their  amusements  was  to  go  "  down  town  "  after 
dark  and  promenade  Market  and  Kearney  Streets. 
It  was  very  gay;  a  great  many  others  were  prome 
nading  there  also.  All  of  the  stores  were  brilliantly 
lighted  and  many  of  them  still  open.  They  walked 
about  aimlessly,  looking  into  the  shop  windows. 
Trina  would  take  McTeague's  arm,  and  he,  very 
much  embarrassed  at  that,  would  thrust  both  hands 
into  his  pockets  and  pretend  not  to  notice.  They 
stopped  before  the  jewellers'  and  milliners'  win 
dows,  rinding  a  great  delight  in  picking  out  things 
195 


McTeague 

for  each  other,  saying  how  they  would  choose  this 
and  that  if  they  were  rich.  Trina  did  most  of  the 
talking,  McTeague  merely  approving  by  a  growl  or 
a  movement  of  the  head  or  shoulders;  she  was  in 
terested  in  the  displays  of  some  of  the  cheape*" 
stores,  but  he  found  an  irresistible  charm  in  an 
enormous  golden  molar  with  four  prongs  that  hung 
at  a  corner  of  Kearney  Street.  Sometimes  they 
would  look  at  Mars  or  at  the  moon  through  the 
street  telescopes  or  sit  for  a  time  in  the  rotunda 
of  a  vast  department  store  where  a  band  played 
every  evening. 

Occasionally  they  met  Heise  the  harness-maker 
and  his  wife,  with  whom  they  had  become  ac 
quainted.  Then  the  evening  was  concluded  by  a 
four-cornered  party  in  the  Luxembourg,  a  quiet 
German  restaurant  under  a  theatre.  Trina  had  a 
tamale  and  a  glass  of  beer,  Mrs.  Heise  (who  was  a 
decayed  writing  teacher)  ate  salads,  with  glasses  of 
grenadine  and  currant  syrups.  Heise  drank  cock 
tails  and  whiskey  straight,  and  urged  the  dentist 
to  join  him.  But  McTeague  was  obstinate,  shak 
ing  his  head.  "  I  can't  drink  that  stuff,"  he  said. 
"  It  don't  agree  with  me,  somehow;  I  go  kinda 
crazy  after  two  glasses."  So  he  gorged  himself 
with  beer  and  frankfurter  sausages  plastered  with 
German  mustard. 

When  the  annual  Mechanic's  Fair  opened,  Mc 
Teague  and  Trina  often  spent  their  evenings  there, 
studying  the  exhibits  carefully  (since  in  Trina's  esti 
mation  education  meant  knowing  things  and  being 
able  to  talk  about  them).  Wearying  of  this  they 
would  go  up  into  the  gallery,  and,  leaning  over,  look 
ig6 


McTen^rue 


- 


down  into  the  huge  amphitheatre  full  of  light  and 
color  and  movement. 

There  rose  to  them  the  vast  shuffling  noise  of 
thousands  of  feet  rnd  a  subdued  rear  of  conversa 
tion  like  the  sound  of  a  great  mill.  Mingled  with 
this  was  the  purring  of  distant  machinery,  the 
splashing  of  a  temporary  fountain,  and  the  rhythmic 
jangling  of  a  brass  band,  while  in  the  piano  exhib't 
a  hired  performer  was  playing  upon  a  concert 
grand  with  a  great  flourish.  Nearer  at  hand  they 
could  catch  ends  of  conversation  and  notes  of 
laughter,  the  noise  of  moving  dresses,  and  the  rustle 
of  stiffly  starched  skirts.  Here  and  there  school 
children  elbowed  their  way  through  the  crowd,  cry 
ing  shrilly,  their  hands  full  of  advertisement  pam 
phlets,  fans,  picture  cards,  and  toy  whips,  while  the 
air  itself  was  full  of  the  smell  of  fresh  popcorn. 

They  even  spent  some  time  in  the  art  gallery. 
Trina's  cousin  Selina,  who  gave  lessons  in  hand 
painting  at  two  bits  an  hour,  generally  had  an  ex 
hibit  on  the  walls,  which  they  were  interested  to 
find.  It  usually  was  a  bunch  of  yellow  poppies 
painted  on  black  velvet  and  framed  in  gilt.  They 
stood  before  it  some  little  time,  hazarding  their 
opinions,  and  then  moved  on  slowly  from  one  pic 
ture  to  another.  Trina  had  McTeague  buy  a  cata 
logue  and  made  a  duty  of  finding  the  title  of  every 
picture.  This,  too,  she  told  McTeague,  was  a  kind 
of  education  one  ought  to  cultivate.  Trina  pro 
fessed  to  be  fond  of  art,  having  perhaps  acquired 
a  taste  for  painting  and  sculpture  from  her  experi 
ence  with  the  Noah's  ark  animals. 

"  Of  course,"  she  told  the  dentist,  "  I'm  no  critic, 
197 


McTeague 

I  only  know  what  I  like."  She  knew  that  she 
liked  the  "  Ideal  Heads/'  lovely  girls  with  flowing 
straw-colored  hair  and  immense,  upturned  eyes. 
These  always  had  for  title,  "  Reverie,"  or  "  An 
Idyll,"  or  "  Dreams  of  Love." 

"  I  think  those  are  lovely,  don't  you,  Mac?  "  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  McTeague,  nodding  his 
head,  bewildered,  trying  to  understand.  "  Yes,  yes, 
lovely,  that's  the  word.  Are  you  dead  sure  now, 
Trina,  that  all  that's  hand-painted  just  like  the 
poppies?" 

Thus  the  winter  passed,  a  year  went  by,  then  two. 
The  little  life  of  Polk  Street,  the  life  of  small  traders, 
drug  clerks,  grocers,  stationers,  plumbers,  dentists, 
doctors,  spirit-mediums,  and  the  like,  ran  on  monot 
onously  in  its  accustomed  grooves.  The  first  three 
years  of  their  married  life  wrought  little  change  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  McTeagues.  in  the  third  sum 
mer  the  branch  post-office  was  moved  from  the 
ground  floor  of  the  flat  to  a  corner  farther  up 
the  street  in  order  to  be  near  the  cable  line  that  ran 
mail  cars.  Its  place  was  taken  by  a  German  saloon, 
called  a  "  Wein  Stube,"  in  the  face  of  the  protests 
of  every  female  lodger.  A  few  months  later  quite 
a  little  flurry  of  excitement  ran  through  the  street 
on  the  occasion  of  "  The  Polk  Street  Open  Air 
Festival,"  organized  to  celebrate  the  introduction 
there  of  electric  lights.  The  festival  lasted  three  days 
and  was  quite  an  affair.  The  street  was  garlanded 
with  yellow  and  White  bunting;  there  were  proces 
sions  and  "  floats  "  and  brass  bands.  Marcus 
Schouler  was  in  his  element  during  the  whole  time 
198 


McTeague 

of  the  celebration.  He  was  one  of  the  marshals 
of  the  parade,  and  was  to  be  seen  at  every  hour  of 
the  day,  wearing  a  borrowed  high  hat  and  cotton 
gloves,  and  galloping  a  broken-down  cab-horse  over 
the  cobbles.  He  carried  a  baton  covered  with  yel 
low  and  white  calico,  with  which  he  made  furious 
passes  and  gestures.  His  voice  was  soon  reduced 
to  a  whisper  by  continued  shouting,  and  he  raged 
and  fretted  over  trifles  till  he  wore  himself  thin. 
McTeague  was  disgusted  with  him.  As  often  as 
Marcus  passed  the  window  of  the  flat  the  den 
tist  would  mutter: 

"  Ah,  you  think  you're  smart,  don't  you?  " 
The  result  of  the  festival  was  the  organizing  of 
a  body  known  as  the  "  Polk  Street  Improvement 
Club,"  of  which  Marcus  was  elected  secretary.  Mc 
Teague  and  Trina  often  heard  of  him  in  this  capa 
city  through  Heise  the  harness-maker.  Marcus  had 
evidently  come  to  have  political  aspirations.  It 
appeared  that  he  was  gaining  a  reputation  as  a 
maker  of  speeches,  delivered  with  fiery  emphasis, 
and  occasionally  reprinted  in  the  "  Progress,"  the 
organ  of  the  club — "  outraged  constituencies," 
"  opinions  warped  by  personal  bias,"  "  eyes  blinded 
by  party  prejudice,"  etc. 

Of  her  family,  Trina  heard  every  fortnight  in 
letters  from  her  mother.  The  upholstery  business 
which  Mr.  Sieppe  had  bought  was  doing  poorly, 
and  Mrs.  Sieppe  bewailed  the  day  she  had  ever 
left  B  Street.  Mr.  Sieppe  was  losing  money  every 
month.  Owgooste,  who  was  to  have  gone  to  school, 
had  been  forced  to  go  to  work  in  "  the  store," 
picking  waste.  Mrs.  Sieppe  was  obliged  to  take  a 
199 


McTeague 

lodger  or  two.  Affairs  were  in  a  very  bad  way. 
Occasionally  she  spoke  of  Marcus.  Mr.  Sieppe 
had  not  forgotten  him  despite  his  own  troubles,  but 
still  had  an  eye  out  for  some  one  whom  Marcus 
could  '"  go  in  with  "  on  a  ranch. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  this  period  of  three  years 
that  Trina  and  McTeague  had  their  first  serious 
quarrel.  Trina  had  talked  so  much  about  having 
a  little  house  of  their  own  at  some  future  day,  that 
McTeague  had  at  length  come  to  regard  the  affair 
as  the  end  and  object  of  all  their  labors.  For  a 
long  time  they  had  had  their  eyes  upon  one  house 
in  particular.  It  was  situated  on  a  cross  street 
close  by,  between  Polk  Street  and  the  great  avenue 
one  block  above,  and  hardly  a  Sunday  afternoon 
passed  that  Trina  and  McTeague  did  not  go  and 
look  at  it.  They  stood  for  fully  half  an  hour  upon 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  examining  every  detail 
of  its  exterior,  hazarding  guesses  as  to  the  arrange 
ment  of  the  rooms,  commenting  upon  its  imme 
diate  neighborhood — which  was  rather  sordid.  The 
house  was  a  wooden  two-story  arrangement,  built 
by  a  misguided  contractor  in  a  sort  of  hideous 
Queen  Anne  style,  all  scrolls  and  meaningless  mill- 
work,  with  a  cheap  imitation  of  stained  glass  in  the 
light  over  the  door.  There  was  a  microscopic  front 
yard  full  of  dusty  calla-lilies.  The  front  door 
boasted  an  electric  bell.  But  for  the  McTeagues 
it  was  an  ideal  home.  Their  idea  was  to  live  in 
this  little  house,  the  dentist  retaining  merely  his 
office  in  the  flat.  The  two  places  were  but  around 
the  corner  from  each  other,  so  that  McTeague  could 
lunch  with  his  wife,  as  usual,  and  could  even  keep 


McTeague 

his  early  morning  appointments  and  return  to 
breakfast  if  he  so  desired. 

However,  the  house  was  occupied.  A  Hun 
garian  family  lived  in  it.  The  father  kept  a  station 
ery  and  notion  "  bazaar  "  next  to  Heise's  harness- 
shop  on  Polk  Street,  while  the  oldest  son  played  a 
third  violin  in  the  orchestra  of  a  theatre.  The 
family  rented  the  house  unfurnished  for  thirty-five 
dollars,  paying  extra  for  the  water. 

But  one  Sunday  as  Trina  and  McTeague  on  their 
way  home  from  their  usual  walk  turned  into  the 
cross  street  on  which  the  little  house  was  situated, 
they  became  promptly  aware  of  an  unwonted  bustle 
going  on  upon  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  it.  A  dray 
was  back  against  the  curb,  an  express  wagon  drove 
away  loaded  with  furniture;  bedsteads,  looking- 
glasses,  and  washbowls  littered  the  sidewalks.  The 
Hungarian  family  were  moving  out. 

"  Oh,  Mac,  look!  "  gasped  Trina. 

f<  Sure,  sure,"  muttered  the  dentist. 

After  that  they  spoke  but  little.  For  upwards 
of  an  hour  the  two  stood  upon  the  sidewalk  oppo 
site,  watching  intently  all  that  went  forward,  ab 
sorbed,  excited. 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  they  returned  and 
visited  the  house,  finding  a  great  delight  in  going 
from  room  to  room  and  imagining  themselves  in 
stalled  therein.  Here  would  be  the  bedroom,  here 
the  dining-room,  here  a  charming  little  parlor.  As 
they  came  out  upon  the  front  steps  once  more  they 
met  the  owner,  an  enormous,  red-faced  fellow,  so 
fat  that  his  walking  seemed  merely  a  certain  move 
ment  of  his  feet  by  which  he  pushed  his  stomach 

201 


McTeaguc 

along  in  front  of  him.  Trina  talked  with  him  a  few 
moments,  but  arrived  at  no  understanding,  and  the 
two  went  away  after  giving  him  their  address.  At 
supper  that  night  McTeague  said: 

"  Huh — what  do  you  think,  Trina?  " 

Trina  put  her  chin  in  the  air,  tilting  back  her 
heavy  tiara  of  swarthy  hair. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  yet.  Thirty-five  dollars  and  the 
water  extra.  I  don't  think  we  can  afford  it,  Mac." 

"Ah,  pshaw!"  growled  the  dentist,  "sure  we 
can." 

"  It  isn't  only  that,"  said  Trina,  "  but  it'll  cost  so 
much  to  make  the  change." 

"  Ah,  you  talk's  though  we  were  paupers.  Ain't 
we  got  five  thousand  dollars?  '"' 

Trina  flushed  on  the  instant,  even  to  the  lobes  of 
her  tiny  pale  ears,  and  put  her  lips  together. 

"  Now,  Mac,  you  know  I  don't  want  you  should 
talk  like  that.  That  money's  never,  never  to  be 
touched." 

"  And  you've  been  savun  up  a  good  deal,  be 
sides,"  went  on  McTeague,  exasperated  at  Trina's 
persistent  economies.  "  How  much  money  have 
you  got  in  that  little  brass  match-safe  in  the  bottom 
of  your  trunk?  Pretty  near  a  hundred  dollars,  I 
guess — ah,  sure."  He  shut  his  eyes  and  nodded 
his  great  head  in  a  knowing  way. 

Trina  had  more  than  that  in  the  brass  match-safe 
in  question,  but  her  instinct  of  hoarding  had  led  her 
to  keep  it  a  secret  from  her  husband.  Now  she 
lied  to  him  with  prompt  fluency. 

"  A  hundred  dollars !  What  are  you  talking  of, 
Mac?  I've  not  got  fifty.  I've  not  got  thirty." 

202 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  let's  take  that  little  house,"  broke  in  Mc 
Teague.  "  We  got  the  chance  now,  and  it  may 
never  come  again.  Come  on,  Trina,  shall  we?  Say, 
come  on,  shall  we,  huh?  " 

"  We'd  have  to  be  awful  saving  if  we  did,  Mac." 

"  Well,  sure,  /  say  let's  take  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Trina,  hesitating.  "  Would 
n't  it  be  lovely  to  have  a  house  all  to  ourselves?  But 
let's  not  decide  until  to-morrow." 

The  next  day  the  owner  of  the  house  called. 
Trina  was  out  at  her  morning's  marketing  and  the 
dentist,  who  had  no  one  in  the  chair  at  the  time, 
received  him  in  the  "  Parlors."  Before  he  was  well 
aware  of  it,  McTeague  had  concluded  the  bargain. 
The  owner  bewildered  him  with  a  world  of  phrases, 
made  him  believe  that  it  would  be  a  great  saving 
to  move  into  the  little  house,  and  finally  offered  it 
to  him  "  water  free." 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  said  McTeague,  "  I'll  take 
it." 

The  other  immediately  produced  a  paper. 

"  Well,  then,  suppose  you  sign  for  the  first 
month's  rent,  and  we'll  call  it  a  bargain.  That's 
business,  you  know,"  and  McTeague,  hesitating, 
signed. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  talked  more  with  my  wife  about 
it  first,"  he  said,  dubiously. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  answered  the  owner,  easily. 
"  I  guess  if  the  head  of  the  family  wants  a  thing, 
that's  enough." 

McTeague  could  not  wait  until  lunch  time  to  tell 
the  news  to  Trina.  As  soon  as  he  heard  her  come 
in,  he  laid  down  the  plaster-of-paris  mould  he  was 
203 


McTeague 

making  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen  and  found 
her  chopping  up  onions. 

"  Well,  Trina,"  he  said,  "  we  got  that  house.  I've 
taken  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  answered,  quicldy. 
The  dentist  told  her. 

"  And  you  signed  a  paper  for  the  first  month's 
rent?" 

"  Sure,  sure.     That's  business,  you  know." 

"  Well,  why  did  you  do  it?  "  cried  Trina.  "  You 
might  have  asked  me  something  about  it.  Now, 
what  have  you  done?  I  was  talking  with  Mrs. 
Ryer  about  that  house  while  I  was  out  this  morn 
ing,  and  she  said  the  Hungarians  moved  out  be 
cause  it  was  absolutely  unhealthy;  there's  water 
been  standing  in  the  basement  for  months.  And  she 
told  me,  too,"  Trina  went  on  indignantly,  "  that 
she  knew  the  owner,  and  she  was  sure  we  could 
get  the  house  for  thirty  if  we'd  bargain  for  it.  Now 
what  have  you  gone  and  done?  I  hadn't  made  up 
my  mind  about  taking  the  house  at  all.  And  now 
I  won't  take  it,  with  the  water  in  the  basement  and 
all." 

"  Well — well,"  stammered  McTeague,  helplessly, 
"  we  needn't  go  in  if  it's  unhealthy." 

"  But  you've  signed  a  paper,"  cried  Trina, 
exasperated.  "  You've  got  to  pay  that  first 
month's  rent,  anyhow — to  forfeit  it.  Oh,  you 
are  so  stupid!  There's  thirty-five  dollars  just 
thrown  away.  I  shan't  go  into  that  house;  we 
won't  move  a  foot  out  of  here.  I've  changed  my 
mind  about  it,  and  there's  water  in  the  basement 
besides." 

201 


McTeague 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  can  stand  thirty-five  dollars," 
mumbled  the  dentist,  "  if  we've  got  to." 

''  Thirty-five  dollars  just  thrown  out  of  the  win 
dow,"  cried  Trina,  her  teeth  clicking,  every  in 
stinct  of  her  parsimony  aroused.  "  Oh,  you  are 
the  thick-wittedest  man  that  I  ever  knew.  Do  you 
think  we're  millionaires?  Oh,  to  think  of  losing 
thirty-five  dollars  like  that."  Tears  were  in  her 
eyes,  tears  of  grief  as  well  as  of  anger.  Never  had 
McTeague  seen  his  little  woman  so  aroused.  Sud 
denly  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  slammed  the  chop- 
ping-bowl  down  upon  the  table.  "  Well,  /  won't 
pay  a  nickel  of  it,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Huh?  What,  what?"  stammered  the  dentist, 
taken  all  aback  by  her  outburst. 

"  I  say  that  you  will  find  that  money,  that  thirty- 
five  dollars,  yourself." 

"  Why— why- 

"  It's  your  stupidity  got  us  into  this  fix,  and  you'll 
be  the  one  that'll  suffer  by  it." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  I  wont  do  it.  We'll — we'll  share 
and  share  alike.  Why,  you  said — you  told  me  you'd 
take  the  house  if  the  water  was  free." 

"  I  never  did.  I  never  did.  How  can  you  stand 
there  and  say  such  a  thing?  " 

"  You  did  tell  me  that,"  vociferated  McTeague, 
beginning  to  get  angry  in  his  turn. 

"  Mac,  I  didn't,  and  you  know  it.  And  what's 
more,  I  won't  pay  a  nickel.  Mr.  Heise  pays  his 
bill  next  week,  it's  forty-three  dollars,  and  you  can 
just  pay  the  thirty-five  out  of  that." 

"  Why,  you  got  a  whole  hundred  dollars  saved 
up  in  your  match-safe,"  shouted  the  dentist,  throw- 


McTeague 

ing  out  an  arm  with  an  awkward  gesture.     "  You 
pay  half  and  I'll  pay  half,  that's  only  fair." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  exclaimed  Trina.  "  It's  not  a  hun 
dred  dollars.  You  won't  touch  it;  you  won't  touch 
my  money,  I  tell  you." 

"  Ah,  how  does  it  happen  to  be  yours,  I'd  like  to 
know?  " 

"It's  mine!  It's  mine!  It's  mine!  "  cried  Trina, 
her  face  scarlet,  her  teeth  clicking  like  the  snap  of 
a  closing  purse. 

"  It  ain't  any  more  yours  than  it  is  mine." 

"  Every  penny  of  it  is  mine." 

"  Ah,  what  a  fine  fix  you'd  get  me  into,"  growled 
the  dentist.  "  I've  signed  the  paper  with  the 
owner;  that's  business,  you  know,  that's  business, 
you  know;  and  now  you  go  back  on  me.  Suppose 
we'd  taken  the  house,  we'd  V  shared  the  rent, 
wouldn't  we,  just  as  we  do  here?  " 

Trina  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  great  affec 
tation  of  indifference  and  began  chopping  the 
onions  again. 

"  You  settle  it  with  the  owner,"  she  said.  "  It's 
your  affair;  you've  got  the  money."  She  pretended 
to  assume  a  certain  calmness  as  though  the  matter 
was  something  that  no  longer  affected  her.  Her 
manner  exasperated  McTeague  all  the  more. 

"No,  I  won't;  no,  I  won't;  I  won't  either,"  he 
shouted.  "  I'll  pay  my  half  and  he  can  come  to 
you  for  the  other  half."  Trina  put  a  hand  over 
her  ear  to  shut  out  his  clamor. 

"  Ah,  don't  try  and  be  smart,"  cried  McTeague. 
"  Come,  now,  yes  or  no,  will  you  pay  your  half?  " 

"  You  heard  what  I  said." 
206 


McTeague 

"Will  you  pay  it?" 

"  No." 

"  Miser!  "  shouted  McTeague.  "  Miser!  you're 
worse  than  old  Zerkow.  All  right,  all  right,  keep 
your  money.  I'll  pay  the  whole  thirty-five.  I'd 
rather  lose  it  than  be  such  a  miser  as  you." 

"  Haven't  you  got  anything  to  do,"  returned 
Trina,  "  instead  of  staying  here  and  abusing  me?  " 

"  Well,  then,  for  the  last  time,  will  you  help  me 
out?"  Trina  cut  the  heads  of  a  fresh  bunch  of 
onions  and  gave  no  answer. 

"Huh?  will  you?" 

"  I'd  like  to  have  my  kitchen  to  myself,  please," 
she  said  in  a  mincing  way,  irritating  to  a  last  de 
gree.  The  dentist  stamped  out  of  the  room,  bang 
ing  the  door  behind  him. 

For  nearly  a  week  the  breach  between  them  re 
mained  unhealed.  Trina  only  spoke  to  the  dentist 
in  monosyllables,  while  he,  exasperated  at  her  calm 
ness  and  frigid  reserve,  sulked  in  his  "  Dental  Par 
lors,"  muttering  terrible  things  beneath  his  mus 
tache,  or  finding  solace  in  his  concertina,  playing 
his  six  lugubrious  airs  over  and  over  again,  or 
swearing  frightful  oaths  at  his  canary.  When 
Heise  paid  his  bill,  McTeague,  in  a  fury,  sent  the 
amount  to  the  owner  of  the  little  house. 

There  was  no  formal  reconciliation  between  the 
dentist  and  his  little  woman.  Their  relations  re 
adjusted  themselves  inevitably.  By  the  end  of  the 
week  they  were  as  amicable  as  ever,  but  it  was  long 
before  they  spoke  of  the  little  house  again.  Nor 
did  they  ever  revisit  it  of  a  Sunday  afternoon.  A 
month  or  so  later  the  Ryers  told  them  that  the 
207 


McTeague 

owner  himself  had  moved  in.       The  McTeagues 
never  occupied  that  little  house. 

But  Trina  suffered  a  reaction  after  the  quarrel. 
She  began  to  be  sorry  she  had  refused  to  help  her 
husband,  sorry  she  had  brought  matters  to  such  an 
issue.  One  afternoon  as  she  was  at  work  on  the 
Noah's  ark  animals,  she  surprised  herself  crying 
over  the  affair.  She  loved  her  "  old  bear "  too 
much  to  do  him  an  injustice,  and  perhaps,  after  all, 
she  had  been  in  the  wrong.  Then  it  occurred  to 
her  how  pretty  it  would  be  to  come  up  behind  him 
unexpectedly,  and  slip  the  money,  thirty-five  dol 
lars,  into  his  hand,  and  pull  his  huge  head  down  to 
her  and  kiss  his  bald  spot  as  she  used  to  do  in  the 
days  before  they  were  married. 

Then  she  hesitated,  pausing  in  -her  work,  her 
knife  dropping  into  her  lap,  a  half-whittled  figure 
between  her  fingers.  If  not  thirty-five  dollars,  then 
at  least  fifteen  or  sixteen,  her  share  of  it.  But  a 
feeling  of  reluctance,  a  sudden  revolt  against  this 
intended  generosity,  arose  in  her. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I'll  give  him  ten 
dollars.  I'll  tell  him  it's  all  I  can  afford.  It  is  all 
I  can  afford." 

She  hastened  to  finish  the  figure  of  the  animal 
she  was  then  at  work  upon,  putting  in  the  ears  and 
tail  with  a  drop  of  glue,  and  tossing  it  into  the  bas 
ket  at  her  side.  Then  she  rose  and  went  into  the 
bedroom  and  opened  her  trunk,  taking  the  key 
from  under  a  corner  of  the  carpet  where  she  kept  it 
hid. 

At  the  very  bottom  of  her  trunk,  under  -her  bridal 
dress,  she  kept  her  savings.     It  was  all  in  change — 
208 


McTeague 

half  dollars  and  dollars  for  the  most  part,  with  here 
and  there  a  gold  piece.  Long  since  the  little  brass 
match-box  had  overflowed.  Trina  kept  the  sur 
plus  in  a  chamois-skin  sack  she  had  made  from  an 
old  chest  protector.  Just  now,  yielding  to  an  im 
pulse  which  often  seized  her,  she  drew  out  the 
match-box  and  the  chamois  sack,  and  emptying  the 
contents  on  the  bed,  counted  them  carefully.  It 
came  to  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  dollars,  all  told. 
She  counted  it  and  recounted  it  and  made  little  piles 
of  it,  and  rubbed  the  gold  pieces  between  the  folds 
of  her  apron  until  they  shone. 

"Ah,  yes,  ten  dollars  is  all  I  can  afford  to  give 
Mac,"  said  Trina,  "  and  even  then,  think  of  it,  ten 
dollars — it  will  be  four  or  five  months  before  I  can 
save  that  again.  But,  dear  old  Mac,  I  know  it 
would  make  him  feel  glad,  and  perhaps,"  she  added, 
suddenly  taken  with  an  idea,  "  perhaps  Mac  will 
refuse  to  take  it." 

She  took  a  ten-dollar  piece  from  the  heap  and 
put  the  rest  away.  Then  she  paused: 

"  No,  not  the  gold  piecfe,"  she  said  to  herself. 
It's  too  pretty.  He  can  have  the  silver."  She 
made  the  change  and  counted  out  ten  silver  dollars 
into  her  palm.  But  what  a  difference  it  made  in  the 
appearance  and  weight  of  the  little  chamois  bag! 
The  bag  was  shrunken  and  withered,  long  wrinkles 
appeared  running  downward  from  the  draw-string. 
It  was  a  lamentable  sight.  Trina  looked  longingly 
at  the  ten  broad  pieces  in  her  hand.  Then  sud 
denly  all  her  intuitive  desire  of  saving,  her  instinct 
of  'hoarding,  her  love  of  money  for  the  money's 
sake,  rose  strong  within  her. 
14  209 


McTeague 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  do  it.  It  may 
be  mean,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It's  stronger  than  I." 
She  returned  the  money  to  the  bag-  and  locked  it 
and  the  brass  match-box  in  her  trunk,  turning  the 
key  with  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction. 

She  was  a  little  troubled,  however,  as  she  went 
back  into  the  sitting-room  and  took  up  her  work. 

"  I  didn't  use  to  be  so  stingy,"  she  told  herself. 
"  Since  I  won  in  the  lottery  I've  become  a  regular 
little  miser.  It's  growing  on  me,  but  never  mind, 
it's  a  good  fault,  and,  anyhow,  I  can't  help  it." 


XL 


On  that  particular  morning  the  McTeagues  had 
risen  a  half  hour  earlier  than  usual  and  taken  a 
hurried  breakfast  in  the  kitchen  on  the  deal  table 
with  its  oilcloth  cover.  Trina  was  house-cleaning 
that  week  and  had  a  presentiment  of  a  hard  day's 
work  ahead  of  her,  while  McTeague  remembered 
a  seven  o'clock  appointment  with  a  little  German 
shoemaker. 

At  about  eight  o'clock,  when  the  dentist  had 
been  in  his  office  for  over  an  hour,  Trina  descended 
upon  the  bedroom,  a  towel  about  her  head  and  the 
roller-sweeper  in  her  hand.  She  covered  the  bureau 
and  sewing  machine  with  sheets,  and  unhooked  the 
chenille  portieres  between  the  bedroom  and  the 
sitting-room.  As  she  was  tying  the  Nottingham 
lace  curtains  at  the  window  into  great  knots,  she 
saw  old  Miss  Baker  on  the  opposite  sidewalk  in  the 
street  below,  and  raising  the  sash  called  down  to  her. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Mrs.  McTeague,"  cried  the  re 
tired  dressmaker,  facing  about,  her  head  in  the  air. 
Then  a  long  conversation  was  begun,  Trina,  her 
arms  folded  under  her  breast,  her  elbows  resting  on 
the  window  ledge,  willing  to  be  idle  for  a  moment; 
old  Miss  Baker,  her  market-basket  on  her  arm,  her 
hands  wrapped  in  the  ends  of  her  worsted  shawl 
against  the  cold  of  the  early  morning.  They  ex 
changed  phrases,  calling  to  each  other  from  window 
to  curb,  their  breath  coming  from  their  lips  in  faint 

211 


McTeague 

puffs  of  vapor,  their  voices  shrill,  and  raised  to 
dominate  the  clamor  of  the  waking  street.  The 
newsboys  had  made  their  appearance  on  the  street, 
together  with  the  day  laborers.  The  cable  cars  had 
begun  to  fill  up;  all  along  the  street  could  be  seen 
the  shopkeepers  taking  down  their  shutters;  some 
were  still  breakfasting.  Now  and  then  a  waiter 
from  one  of  the  cheap  restaurants  crossed  from  one 
sidewalk  to  another,  balancing  on  one  palm  a  tray 
covered  with  a  napkin. 

"  Aren't  you  out  pretty  early  this  morning,  Miss 
Baker?  "  called  Trina. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  other.  "  I'm  always  up 
at  half-past  six,  but  I  don't  always  get  out  so  soon. 
I  wanted  to  get  a  nice  head  of  cabbage  and  some 
lentils  for  a  soup,  and  if  you  don't  go  to  market 
early,  the  restaurants  get  all  the  best." 

"  And  you've  been  to  market  already,  Miss 
Baker?" 

"  Oh,  my,  yes;  and  I  got  a  fish — a  sole — see."  She 
drew  the  sole  in  question  from  her  basket. 

"  Oh,  the  lovely  sole!  "  exclaimed  Trina. 

"  I  got  this  one  at  Spadella's;  he  always  has  good 
fish  on  Friday.  How  is  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague?" 

"  Ah,  Mac  is  always  well,  thank  you,  Miss 
Baker." 

"  You  know,  Mrs.  Ryer  told  me,"  cried  the  little 
dressmaker,  moving  forward  a  step  out  of  the  way 
of  a  "  glass-put-in  "  man,  "  that  Doctor  McTeague 
pulled  a  tooth  of  that  Catholic  priest,  Father — oh, 
I  forget  his  name — anyhow,  he  pulled  his  tooth  with 
his  fingers.  Was  that  true,  Mrs.  McTeague?  " 

212 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Mac  does  that  almost  all  the 
time  now,  'specially  with  front  teeth.  He's  got  a 
regular  reputation  for  it.  He  says  it's  brought  him 
more  patients  than  even  the  sign  I  gave  him,"  she 
added,  pointing  to  the  big  golden  molar  projecting 
from  the  office  window. 

"With  his  ringers!  Xow,  think  of  that,"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Baker,  wagging  her  head.  "  Isn't 
he  that  strong!  It's  just  wonderful.  Cleaning 
house  to-day?"  she  inquired,  glancing  at  Trina's 
towelled  head. 

"  Urn  hum,"  answered  Trina.  "  Maria  Macapa's 
coming  in  to  help  pretty  soon." 

At  the  mention  of  Maria's  name  the  little  old 
dressmaker  suddenly  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Well,  if  I'm  not  here  talking  to  you  and  forget 
ting  something  I  was  just  dying  to  tell  you.  Mrs. 
McTeague,  what  ever  in  the  world  do  you  suppose? 
Maria  and  old  Zerkow,  that  red-headed  Polish 
Jew,  the  rag-bottles-sacks  man,  you  know,  they're 
going  to  be  married." 

"  No!  "  cried  Trina,  in  blank  amazement.  "  You 
don't  mean  it." 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Isn't  it  the  funniest  thing  you 
ever  heard  of?  " 

"  Oh,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Trina,  leaning 
eagerly  from  the  window.  Miss  Baker  crossed  the 
street  and  stood  just  beneath  her. 

"  Well,  Maria  came  to  me  last  night  and  wanted 
me  to  make  her  a  new  gown,  said  she  wanted 
something  gay,  like  what  the  girls  at  the  candy 
store  wear  when  they  go  out  with  their  young  men. 
I  couldn't  tell  what  had  got  into  the  girl,  until  finally 
213 


McTeague 

she  told  me  she  wanted  something  to  get  married 
in,  and  that  Zerkow  had  asked  her  to  marry 
him,  and  that  she  was  going  to  do  it.  Poor  Maria! 
I  guess  it's  the  first  and  only  offer  she  ever  received, 
and  it's  just  turned  her  head." 

"  But  what  do  those  two  see  in  each  other?  "  cried 
Trina.  "  Zerkow  is  a  horror,  he's  an  old  man,  and 
his  hair  is  red  and  his  voice  is  gone,  and  then  he's 
a  Jew,  isn't  he?" 

"  I  know,  I  know;  but  it's  Maria's  only  chance 
for  a  husband,  and  she  don't  mean  to  let  it  pass. 
You  know  she  isn't  quite  right  in  her  head,  anyhow. 
I'm  awfully  sorry  for  poor  Maria.  But  7  can't  see 
what  Zerkow  wants  to  marry  her  for.  It's  not 
possible  that  he's  in  love  with  Maria,  it's  out  of 
the  question.  Maria  hasn't  a  sou,  either,  and  I'm 
just  positive  that  Zerkow  has  lots  of  money." 

"  I'll  bet  I  know  why,"  exclaimed  Trina,  with 
sudden  conviction;  "yes,  I  know  just  why.  See 
here,  Miss  Baker,  you  know  how  crazy  old  Zerkow 
is  after  money  and  gold  and  those  sort  of  things." 

"  Yes,  I  know;  but  you  know  Maria  hasn't " 

"  Now,  just  listen.  You've  heard  Maria  tell 
about  that  wonderful  service  of  gold  dishes  she  says 
her  folks  used  to  own  in  Central  America;  she's 
crazy  on  that  subject,  don't  you  know.  She's  all 
right  on  everything  else,  but  just  start  her  on  that 
service  of  gold  plate  and  she'll  talk  you  deaf.  She 
can  describe  it  just  as  though  she  saw  it,  and  she  can 
make  you  see  it,  too,  almost.  Now,  you  see,  Maria 
and  Zerkow  have  known  each  other  pretty  well. 
Maria  goes  to  him  every  two  weeks  or  so  to  sell 
him  junk;  they  got  acquainted  that  way,  and  I 
214 


McTeague 

know  Maria's  been  dropping  in  to  see  him  pretty 
often  this  last  year,  and  sometimes  he  comes  here 
to  see  her.  He's  made  Maria  tell  him  the  story  of 
that  plate  over  and  over  and  over  again,  and  Maria 
does  it  and  is  glad  to,  because  he's  the  only  one 
that  believes  it.  Now  he's  going  to  marry  her  just 
so's  he  can  hear  that  story  every  day,  every  hour. 
He's  pretty  near  as  crazy  on  the  subject  as  Maria 
is.  They're  a  pair  for  you,  aren't  they?  Both  crazy 
over  a  lot  of  gold  dishes  that  never  existed.  Per 
haps  Maria'll  marry  him  because  it's  her  only 
chance  to  get  a  husband,  but  I'm  sure  it's  more  for 
the  reason  that  she's  got  some  one  to  talk  to  now 
who  believes  her  story.  Don't  you  think  I'm 
right?" 

"'  Yes,  yes,  I  guess  you're  right,"  admitted  Miss 
Baker. 

"  But  it's  a  queer  match  anyway  you  put  it,"  said 
Trina,  musingly. 

"  Ah,  you  may  well  say  that,"  returned  the  other, 
nodding  her  head.  There  was  a  silence.  For  a 
long  moment  the  dentist's  wife  and  the  retired 
dressmaker,  the  one  at  ihe  window,  the  other  on 
the  sidewalk,  remained  lost  in  thought,  wondering 
over  the  strangeness  of  the  affair. 

But  suddenly  there  was  a  diversion.  Alexander, 
Marcus  Schouler's  Irish  setter,  whom  his  master 
had  long  since  allowed  the  liberty  of  running  un 
trammelled  about  the  neighborhood,  turned  the 
corner  briskly  and  came  trotting  along  the  side 
walk  where  Miss  Baker  stood.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  the  Scotch  collie  who  had  at  one  time  be 
longed  to  the  branch  post-office  issued  from  the 

215 


McTeague 

side  door  of  a  house  not  fifty  feet  away.  In  an  in 
stant  the  two  enemies  had  recognized  each  other. 
They  halted  abruptly,  their  fore  feet  planted  rigidly. 
Trina  uttered  a  little  cry. 

"  Oh,  look  out,  Miss  Baker.  Those  two  dogs 
hate  each  other  just  like  humans.  You  best  look 
out.  They'll  fight  sure."  Miss  Baker  sought  safety 
in  a  nearby  vestibule,  whence  she  peered  forth  at 
the  scene,  very  interested  and  curious.  Maria 
Macapa's  head  thrust  itself  from  one  of  the  top- 
story  windows  of  the  flat,  with  a  shrill  cry. 
Even  McTeague's  huge  form  appeared  above  the 
half  curtains  of  the  "  Parlor  "  windows,  while  over 
his  shoulder  could  be  seen  the  face  of  the  "  patient," 
a  napkin  tucked  in  his  collar,  the  rubber  dam  de 
pending  from  his  mouth.  All  the  flat  knew  of  the 
feud  between  the  dogs,  but  never  before  had  the 
pair  been  brought  face  to  face. 

Meanwhile,  the  collie  and  the  setter  had  drawn 
near  to  each  other;  five  feet  apart  they  paused  as 
if  by  mutual  consent.  The  collie  turned  sidewise 
to  the  setter;  the  setter  instantly  wheeled  himself 
flank  on  to  the  collie.  Their  tails  rose  and  stiffened, 
they  raised  their  lips  over  their  long  white  fangs,  the 
napes  of  their  necks  bristled,  and  they  showed  each 
other  the  vicious  whites  of  their  eyes,  while  they 
drew  in  their  breaths  with  prolonged  and  rasping 
snarls.  Each  dog  seemed  to  be  the  personification 
of  fury  and  unsatisfied  hate.  They  began  to  circle 
about  each  other  with  infinite  slowness,  walking 
stiffed-legged  and  upon  the  very  points  of  their 
feet.  Then  they  wheeled  about  and  began  to  circle 
in  the  opposite  direction.  Twice  they  repeated  this 
216 


McTeague 

motion,  their  snarls  growing  louder.  But  still  they 
did  not  come  together,  and  the  distance  of  five  feet 
between  them  was  maintained  with  an  almost 
mathematical  precision.  It  was  magnificent,  but  it 
was  not  war.  Then  the  setter,  pausing  in  his  walk, 
turned  his  head  slowly  from  his  enemy.  The  collie 
sniffed  the  air  and  pretended  an  interest  in  an  old 
shoe  lying  in  the  gutter.  Gradually  and  with  all 
the  dignity  of  monarchs  they  moved  away  from 
each  other.  Alexander  stalked  back  to  the  corner  of 
the  street.  The  collie  paced  toward  the  side  gate 
whence  he  had  issued,  affecting  to  remember  some 
thing  of  great  importance.  They  disappeared. 
Once  out  of  sight  of  one  another  they  began  to 
bark  furiously. 

"  Well,  I  never! "  exclaimed  Trina  in  great  dis 
gust.  "  The  way  those  two  dogs  have  been  carry 
ing  on  you'd  'a'  thought  they  would  'a'  just  torn 
each  other  to  pieces  when  they  had  the  chance,  and 

here  I'm  wasting  the  whole  morning "  she 

closed  her  window  with  a  bang. 

"  Sick  'im,  sick  'im,"  called  Maria  Macapa,  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  promote  a  fight. 

Old  Miss  Baker  came  out  of  the  vestibule,  purs 
ing  her  lips,  quite  put  out  at  the  fiasco.  "  And  after 
all  that  fuss,"  she  said  to  herself  aggrievedly. 

The  little  dressmaker  bought  an  envelope  of 
nasturtium  seeds  at  the  florist's,  and  returned  to 
her  tiny  room  in  the  flat.  But  as  she  slowly 
mounted  the  first  flight  of  steps  she  suddenly  came 
face  to  face  with  Old  Grannis,  -who  was  coming 
down.  It  was  between  eight  and  nine,  and  he  was 
on  his  way  to  his  little  dog  hospital,  no  doubt.  In- 
217 


McTeague 

stantly  Miss  Baker  was  seized  with  trepidation,  her 
curious  little  false  curls  shook,  a  faint — a  very  faint 
— flush  came  into  her  withered  cheeks,  and  her  heart 
beat  so  violently  under  the  worsted  shawl  that  she 
felt  obliged  to  shift  the  market-basket  to  her  other 
arm  and  put  out  her  free  hand  to  steady  herself 
against  the  rail. 

On  his  part,  Old  Grannis  was  instantly  over 
whelmed  with  confusion.  His  awkwardness  seemed 
to  paralyze  his  limbs,  his  lips  twitched  and  turned 
dry,  his  hand  went  tremblingly  to  his  chin.  But 
what  added  to  Miss  Baker's  miserable  embarrass 
ment  on  this  occasion  was  the  fact  that  the  old  Eng 
lishman  should  meet  her  thus,  carrying  a  sordid 
market-basket  full  of  sordid  fish  and  cabbage.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  malicious  fate  persisted  in  bringing 
the  two  old  people  face  to  face  at  the  most  in 
opportune  moments. 

Just  now,  however,  a  veritable  catastrophe  oc 
curred.  The  little  old  dressmaker  changed  her 
basket  to  her  other  arm  at  precisely  the  wrong 
moment,  and  Old  Grannis,  hastening  to  pass,  re 
moving  his  hat  in  a  hurried  salutation,  struck  it 
with  his  forearm,  knocking  it  from  her  grasp,  and 
sending  it  rolling  and  bumping  down  the  stairs. 
The  sole  fell  flat  upon  the  first  landing;  the  lentils 
scattered  themselves  over  the  entire  flight;  while 
the  cabbage,  leaping  from  step  to  step,  thundered 
down  the  incline  and  brought  up  against  the  street 
door  with  a  shock  that  reverberated  through  the 
entire  building. 

The  little  retired  dressmaker,  horribly  vexed, 
nervous  and  embarrassed,  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
218 


McTeague 

keep  back  the  tears.  Old  Grannis  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  with  averted  eyes,  murmuring:  "  Oh,  I'm  so 
sorry,  I'm  so  sorry.  I — I  really — I  beg  your  par 
don,  really — really." 

Marcus  Schouler,  coming  down  stairs  from  his 
room,  saved  the  situation. 

"Hello,  people,"  he  cried.  "By  damn!  you've 
upset  your  basket— you  have,  for  a  fact.  Here,  let's 
pick  urn  up."  He  and  Old  Grannis  went  up  and 
down  the  flight,  gathering  up  the  fish,  the  lentils,  and 
the  sadly  battered  cabbage.  Marcus  was  raging 
over  the  pusillanimity  of  Alexander,  of  which  Maria 
had  just  told  him. 

"  I'll  cut  him  in  two  with  the  whip,"  he  shouted. 
"  I  will,  I  will,  I  say  I  will,  for  a  fact.  He  wouldn't 
fight,  hey?  I'll  give  um  all  the  fight  he  wants, 
nasty,  mangy  cur.  If  he  won't  fight  he  won't  eat. 
I'm  going  to  get  the  butcher's  bull  pup  and  I'll 
put  um  both  in  a  bag  and  shake  um  up.  I  will,  for 
a  fact,  and  I  guess  Alec  will  fight.  Come  along, 
Mister  Grannis,"  and  he  took  the  old  Englishman 
away. 

Little  Miss  Baker  hastened  to  her  room  and 
locked  herself  in.  She  was  excited  and  upset  dur 
ing  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  listened  eagerly  for 
Old  Grannis's  return  that  evening.  He  went  in 
stantly  to  work  binding  up  "  The  Breeder  and 
Sportsman,"  and  back  numbers  of  the  "  Nation." 
She  heard  him  softly  draw  his  chair  and  the  table 
on  which  he  had  placed  his  little  binding  apparatus 
close  to  the  wall.  At  once  she  did  the  same,  brew 
ing  herself  a  cup  of  tea.  All  through  that  evening 
the  two  old  people  "  kept  company "  witk  each 

210 


McTeague 

other,  after  their  own  peculiar  fashion.  "  Setting 
out  with  each  other  "  Miss  Baker  had  begun  to  call 
it.  That  they  had  been  presented,  that  they  had 
even  been  forced  to  talk  together,  had  made  no 
change  in  their  relative  positions.  Almost  imme 
diately  they  had  fallen  back  into  their  old  ways 
again,  quite  unable  to  master  their  timidity,  to  over 
come  the  stifling  embarrassment  that  seized  upon 
them  when  in  each  other's  presence.  It  was  a  sort 
of  hypnotism,  a  thing  stronger  than  themselves. 
But  they  were  not  altogether  dissatisfied  with  the 
way  things  had  come  to  be.  It  was  their  little 
romance,  their  last,  and  they  were  living  through 
it  with  supreme  enjoyment  and  calm  contentment. 

Marcus  Schouler  still  occupied  his  old  room  on 
the  floor  above  the  McTeagues.  They  saw  but  little 
of  him,  however.  At  long  intervals  the  dentist  or 
his  wife  met  him  on  the  stairs  of  the  flat.  Some 
times  he  would  stop  and  talk  with  Trina,  inquiring 
after  the  Sieppes,  asking  her  if  Mr.  Sieppe  had  yet 
heard  of  any  one  with  whom  he,  Marcus,  could 
"  go  in  with  on  a  ranch."  McTeague,  Marcus 
merely  nodded  to.  Never  had  the  quarrel  between 
the  two  men  been  completely  patched  up.  It  did 
not  seem  possible  to  the  dentist  now  that  Marcus 
had  ever  been  his  "  pal,"  that  they  had  ever  taken 
long  walks  together.  He  was  sorry  that  he  had 
treated  Marcus  gratis  for  an  ulcerated  tooth,  while 
Marcus  daily  recalled  the  fact  that  he  had  given  up 
his  "  girl "  to  his  friend — the  girl  who  had  won  a 
fortune — as  the  great  mistake  of  his  life.  Only 
once  since  the  wedding  had  he  called  upon  Trina, 
at  a  time  when  he  knew  McTeague  would  be  out. 

720 


McTeague 

Trina  had  shown  him  through  the  rooms  and  had 
told  him,  innocently  enough,  how  gay  wras  their 
life  there.  Marcus  had  come  away  fairly  sick  with 
envy;  his  rancor  against  the  dentist — and  against 
himself,  for  that  matter — knew  no  bounds.  "  And 
you  might  V  had  it  all  yourself,  Marcus  Schouler," 
he  muttered  to  himself  on  the  stairs.  "  You  mush- 
head,  you  damn  fool!  " 

Meanwhile,  Marcus  was  becoming  involved  in 
the  politics  of  his  ward.  As  secretary  of  the  Polk 
Street  Improvement  Club — which  soon  developed 
into  quite  an  affair  and  began  to  assume  the  pro 
portions  of  a  Republican  political  machine — he 
found  he  could  make  a  little,  a  very  little  more  than 
enough  to  live  on.  At  once  he  had  given  up  his 
position  as  Old  Grannis's  assistant  in  the  dog  hospi 
tal.  Marcus  felt  that  he  needed  a  wider  sphere. 
He  had  his  eye  upon  a  place  connected  with  the 
city  pound.  When  the  great  railroad  strike  oc 
curred,  he  promptly  got  himself  engaged  as  deputy- 
sheriff,  and  spent  a  memorable  week  in  Sacramento, 
where  he  involved  himself  in  more  than  one  terrible 
melee  with  the  strikers.  Marcus  had  that  quick 
ness  of  temper  and  passionate  readiness  to  take 
offence  which  passes  among  his  class  for  bravery. 
But  whatever  were  his  motives,  his  promptness  to 
face  danger  could  not  for  a  moment  be  doubted. 
After  the  strike  he  returned  to  Polk  Street,  and 
throwing  himself  into  the  Improvement  Club,  heart, 
soul,  and  body,  soon  became  one  of  its  ruling  spirits. 
In  a  certain  local  election,  where  a  huge  paving 
contract  was  at  stake,  the  club  made  itself  felt  in 
the  ward,  and  Marcus  «o  managed  his  cards  and 

221 


McTeague 

pulled  his  wires  that,  at  the  end  of  the  matter,  he 
found  himself  some  four  hundred  dollars  to  the 
good. 

When  McTeague  came  out  of  his  "  Parlors  "  at 
noon  of  the  day  upon  which  Trina  had  heard  the 
news  of  Maria  Macapa's  intended  marriage,  he 
found  Trina  burning  coffee  on  a  shovel  in  the  sit 
ting-room.  Try  as  she  would,  Trina  could  never 
quite  eradicate  from  their  rooms  a  certain  faint  and 
indefinable  odor,  particularly  offensive  to  her.  The 
smell  of  the  photographer's  chemicals  persisted  in 
spite  of  all  Trina  could  do  to  combat  it.  She 
burnt  pastilles  arid  Chinese  punk,  and  even,  as  now, 
coffee  on  a  shovel,  all  to  no  purpose.  Indeed,  the 
only  drawback  to  their  delightful  home  was  the 
general  unpleasant  srnell  that  pervaded  it — a  smell 
that  arose  partly  from  the  photographer's  chemi 
cals,  partly  from  the  cooking  in  the  little  kitchen, 
and  partly  from  the  ether  and  creosote  of  the  den 
tist's  "  Parlors." 

As  McTeague  came  in  to  lunch  on  this  occasion, 
he  found  the  table  already  laid,  a  red  cloth  figured 
with  white  flowers  was  spread,  and  as  he  took  his 
seat  his  wife  put  down  the  shovel  on  a  chair  and 
brought  in  the  stewed  codfish  and  the  pot  of  choco 
late.  As  he  tucked  his  napkin  into  his  enormous 
collar,  McTeague  looked  vaguely  about  the  room, 
rolling  his  eyes. 

During  the  three  years  of  their  married  life  the 
McTeagues  had  made  but  few  additions  to  their 
furniture,  Trina  declaring  that  they  could  not  afford 
it.  The  sitting-room  could  boast  of  but  three  new 
ornaments.  Over  the  melodeon  hung  their  mar- 

222 


McTeague 

riage  certificate  in  a  black  frame.  It  was  balanced 
upon  one  side  by  Trina's  wedding  bouquet  under 
a  glass  case,  preserved  by  some  fearful  unknown 
process,  and  upon  the  other  by  the  photograph  of 
Trina  and  the  dentist  in  their  wedding  finery.  This 
latter  picture  was  quite  an  affair,  and  had  been 
taken  immediately  after  the  wedding,  while  Me- 
Teague's  broadcloth  was  still  new,  and  before 
Trina's  silks  and  veil  had  lost  their  stiffness.  It 
represented  Trina,  her  veil  thrown  back,  sitting 
very  straight  in  a  rep  armchair,  her  elbows  well  in 
at  her  sides,  holding  her  bouquet  of  cut  flowers 
directly  before  her.  The  dentist  stood  at  her 
side,  one  hand  on  her  shoulder,  the  other  thrust 
into  the  breast  of  his  "  Prince  Albert,"  his  chin 
in  the  air,  his  eyes  to  one  side,  his  left  foot  for 
ward  in  the  attitude  of  a  statue  of  a  Secretary  of 
State. 

"  Say,  Trina,"  said  McTeague,  his  mouth  full  of 
codfish,  "  Heise  looked  in  on  me  this  morning.  He 
says  '  What's  the  matter  with  a  basket  picnic  over 
at  Schuetzen  Park  next  Tuesday?  '  You  know  the 
paper-hangers  are  going  to  be  in  the  "  Parlors  "  all 
that  day,  so  I'll  have  a  holiday.  That's  what  made 
Heise  think  of  it.  Heise  says  he'll  get  the  Ryers 
to  go  too.  It's  the  anniversary  of  their  wedding 
day.  We'll  ask  Selina  to  go;  she  can  meet  us 
on  the  other  side.  Come  on,  let's  go,  huh,  will 
you?  " 

Trina  still  had  her  mania  for  family  picnics,  which 
had  been  one  of  the  Sieppes  most  cherished  cus 
toms;  but  now  there  were  other  considerations. 

"  I  don't  know  as  we  can  afford  it  this  month, 
223 


McTeague 

Mac,"  she  said,  pouring  the  chocolate.  "  I  got  to 
pay  the  gas  bill  next  week,  and  there's  the  paper 
ing  of  your  office  to  be  paid  for  some  time." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  answered  her  husband.  "  But 
I  got  a  new  patient  this  week,  had  two  molars  and 
an  upper  incisor  filled  at  the  very  first  sitting,  and 
he's  going  to  bring  his  children  round.  He's  a 
barber  on  the  next  block." 

"  Well,  you  pay  half,  then,"  said  Trina.  "  It'll 
cost  three  or  four  dollars  at  the  very  least;  and 
mind,  the  Heises  pay  their  own  fare  both  ways, 
Mac,  and  everybody  gets  their  own  lunch.  Yes," 
she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  I'll  write  and  have  Selina 
join  us.  I  haven't  seen  Selina  in  months.  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  put  up  a  lunch  for  her,  though,"  admitted 
Trina,  "  the  way  we  did  last  time,  because  she  lives 
in  a  boarding-house  now,  and  they  make  a  fuss 
about  putting  up  a  lunch." 

They  could  count  on  pleasant  weather  at  this 
time  of  the  year — it  was  May — and  that  particular 
Tuesday  was  all  that  could  be  desired.  The  party 
assembled  at  the  ferry  slip  at  nine  o'clock,  laden  with 
baskets.  The  McTeagues  came  last  of  all;  Ryer 
and  his  wife  had  already  boarded  the  boat.  They 
met  the  Heises  in  the  waiting-room. 

"  Hello,  Doctor,"  cried  the  harness-maker  as  the 
McTeagues  came  up.  "  This  is  what  you'd  call  an 
old  folks'  picnic,  all  married  people  this  time." 

The  party  foregathered  on  the  upper  deck  as  the 
boat  started,  and  sat  down  to  listen  to  the  band  of 
Italian  musicians  who  were  playing  outside  this 
morning  because  of  the  fineness  of  the  weather. 

"  Oh,  we're  going  to  have  lots  of  fun,"  cried 
224 


McTeague 

Trina.  "  If  it's  anything  I  do  love  it's  a  picnic. 
Do  you  remember  our  first  picnic,  Mac?" 

"Sure,  sure,"  replied  the  dentist;  "we  had  a 
Gotha  truffle." 

"  And  August  lost  his  steamboat,"  put  in  Trina, 
"  and  papa  smacked  him.  I  remember  it  just  as 
well." 

"  Why,  look  there,"  said  Mrs.  Heise,  nodding  at 
a  figure  coming  up  the  companion-way.  "  Ain't 
that  Air.  Schouler?" 

It  was  Marcus,  sure  enough.  As  he  caught  sight 
of  the  party  he  gaped  at  them  a  moment  in  blank 
astonishment,  and  then  ran  up,  his  eyes  wide. 

"Well,  by  damn!"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly. 
"  What's  up?  Where  you  all  going,  anyhow?  Say, 
ain't  ut  queer  we  should  all  run  up  against  each 
other  like  this?"  He  made  great  sweeping  bows 
to  the  three  women,  and  shook  hands  with  "  Cousin 
Trina,"  adding,  as  he  turned  to  the  men  of  the 
party,  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Mister  Heise.  How  do, 
Mister  Ryer?  "  The  dentist,  who  had  formulated 
some  sort  of  reserved  greeting,  he  ignored  com 
pletely.  McTeague  settled  himself  in  his  seat, 
growling  inarticulately  behind  his  mustache. 

"  Say,  say,  what's  all  up,  anyhow?  "  cried  Marcus 
again. 

"  It's  a  picnic,"  exclaimed  the  three  women,  all 
speaking  at  once;  and  Trina  added,  "  We're  going 
over  to  the  same  old  Schuetzen  Park  again.  But 
you're  all  fixed  up  yourself,  Cousin  Mark;  you  look 
as  though  you  were  going  somewhere  yourself." 

In  fact,  Marcus  was  dressed  with  great  care.  He 
wore  a  new  pair  of  slate-blue  trousers,  a  black 
15  225 


McTeague 

"  cutaway,"  and  a  white  lawn  "  tie  "  (for  him  the 
symbol  of  the  height  of  elegance).  He  carried 
also  his  cane,  a  thin  wand  of  ebony  with  a  gold 
head,  presented  to  him  by  the  Improvement  Club 
in  "  recognition  of  services." 

"  That's  right,  that's  right,"  said  Marcus,  with  a 
grin.  "  I'm  takun  a  holiday  myself  to-day.  I  had 
a  bit  of  business  to  do  over  at  Oakland,  an'  I 
thought  I'd  go  up  to  B  Street  afterward  and  see 
Selina.  I  haven't  called  on " 

But  the  party  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Why,  Selina  is  going  with  us." 

"  She's  going  to  meet  us  at  the  Schuetzen  Park 
station,"  explained  Trina. 

Marcus's  business  in  Oakland  was  a  fiction.  He 
was  crossing  the  bay  that  morning  solely  to  see 
Selina.  Marcus  had  "  taken  up  with  "  Selina  a  little 
after  Trina  had  married,  and  had  been  "  rushing  " 
her  ever  since,  dazzled  and  attracted  by  her  accom 
plishments,  for  which  he  pretended  a  great  respect. 
At  the  prospect  of  missing  Selina  on  this  occasion, 
he  was  genuinely  disappointed.  His  vexation  at 
once  assumed  the  form  of  exasperation  against  Mc 
Teague.  It  was  all  the  dentist's  fault.  Ah,  Mc 
Teague  was  coming  between  him  and  Selina  now  as 
he  had  come  between  him  and  Trina.  Best  look 
out,  by  damn!  how  he  monkeyed  with  him  now. 
Instantly  his  face  flamed  and  he  glanced  over  furi 
ously  at  the  dentist,  who,  catching  his  eye,  began 
again  to  mutter  behind  his  mustache. 

"  Well,  say,"  began  Mrs.  Ryer,  with  some  hesi 
tation,  looking  to  Ryer  for  approval,  "  why  can't 
Marcus  come  along  with  us?" 
226 


McTeague 

"  Why,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Heise,  dis 
regarding  her  husband's  vigorous  nudges.  "  I 
guess  we  got  lunch  enough  to  go  round,  all  right; 
don't  you  say  so,  Mrs.  McTeague?  " 

Thus  appealed  to,  Trina  could  only  concur. 

"Why,  of  course,  Cousin  Mark,"  she  said;  "of 
course,  come  along  with  us  if  you  want  to." 

"  Why,  you  bet  I  will,"  cried  Marcus,  enthusiastic 
in  an  instant.  "  Say,  this  is  outa  sight;  it  is,  for  a 
fact;  a  picnic — ah,  sure — and  we'll  meet  Selina  at 
the  station." 

Just  as  the  boat  was  passing  Goat  Island,  the 
harness-maker  proposed  that  the  men  of  the  party 
should  go  down  to  the  bar  on  the  lower  deck  and 
shake  for  the  drinks.  The  idea  had  an  immediate 
success. 

"  Have  to  see  you  on  that,"  said  Ryer. 

"  By  damn,  we'll  have  a  drink!  Yes,  sir,  we  will, 
for  a  fact." 

"  Sure,  sure,  drinks,  that's  the  word." 

At  the  bar  Heise  and  Ryer  ordered  cocktails, 
Marcus  called  for  a  "  creme  Yvette  "  in  order  to 
astonish  the  others.  The  dentist  spoke  for  a  glass 
of  beer. 

"  Say,  look  here,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Heise  as 
they  took  their  glasses.  "  Look  here,  you  fellahs," 
he  had  turned  to  Marcus  and  the  dentist.  "  You 
two  fellahs  have  had  a  grouch  at  each  other  for  the 
last  year  or  so;  now  what's  the  matter  with  your 
shaking  hands  and  calling  quits?  " 

McTeague  was  at  once  overcome  with  a  great 
feeling  of  magnanimity.  He  put  out  his  great 
hand. 


227 


McTeague 

"  I  got  nothing  against  Marcus,"  he  growled. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  shake,"  admitted  Marcus, 
a  little  shamefacedly,  as  their  palms  touched.  "  I 
guess  that's  all  right." 

"  That's  the  idea,"  exclaimed  Heise,  delighted  at 
his  success.  "  Come  on,  boys,  now  let's  drink." 
Their  elbows  crooked  and  they  drank  silently. 

Their  picnic  that  day  was  very  jolly.  Nothing 
had  changed  at  Schuetzen  Park  since  the  day  of  that 
other  memorable  Sieppe  picnic  four  years  previous. 
After  lunch  the  men  took  themselves  off  to  the  rifle 
range,  while  Selina,  Trina,  and  the  other  two  women 
put  away  the  dishes.  An  hour  later  the  men  joined 
them  in  great  spirits.  Ryer  had  won  the  impromptu 
match  which  they  had  arranged,  making  quite  a 
wonderful  score,  which  included  three  clean  bulls' 
eyes,  while  McTeague  had  not  been  able  even  to  hit 
the  target  itself. 

Their  shooting  match  had  awakened  a  spirit  of 
rivalry  in  the  men,  and  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  was 
passed  in  athletic  exercises  between  them.  The 
women  sat  on  the  slope  of  the  grass,  their  hats  and 
gloves  laid  aside,  watching  the  men  as  they  strove 
together.  Aroused  by  the  little  feminine  cries  of 
wonder  and  the  clapping  of  their  ungloved  palms, 
these  latter  began  to  show  off  at  once.  They  took 
off  their  coats  and  vests,  even  their  neckties  and 
collars,  and  worked  themselves  into  a  lather  of  per 
spiration  for  the  sake  of  making  an  impression  on 
their  wives.  They  ran  hundred-yard  sprints  on  the 
cinder  path  and  executed  clumsy  feats  on  the  rings 
and  on  the  parallel  bars.  They  even  found  a  huge 
round  stone  on  the  beach  and  "  put  the  shot "  for 
228 


McTeague 

a  while.  As  long  as  it  was  a  question  of  agility, 
Marcus  was  easily  the  best  of  the  four;  but  the  den 
tist's  enormous  strength,  his  crude,  untutored  brute 
force,  was  a  matter  of  wonder  for  the  entire  party. 
McTeague  cracked  English  walnuts — taken  from 
the  lunch  baskets — in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  and 
tossed  the  round  stone  a  full  five  feet  beyond  their 
best  mark.  Heise  believed  himself  to  be  particularly 
strong  in  the  wrists,  but  the  dentist,  using  but  one 
hand,  twisted  a  cane  out  of  Heise's  two  with  a 
wrench  that  all  but  sprained  the  harness-maker's 
arm.  Then  the  dentist  raised  weights  and  chinned 
himself  on  the  rings  till  they  thought  he  would 
never  tire. 

His  great  success  quite  turned  his  head;  he 
strutted  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  women,  his 
chest  thrown  out,  and  his  great  mouth  perpetually 
expanded  in  a  triumphant  grin.  As  he  felt  his 
strength  more  and  more,  he  began  to  abuse  it;  he 
domineered  over  the  others,  gripping  suddenly  at 
their  arms  till  they  squirmed  with  pain,  and  slapping 
Marcus  on  the  back  so  that  he  gasped  and  gagged 
for  breath.  The  childish  vanity  of  the  great  fellow 
was  as  undisguised  as  that  of  a  schoolboy.  He  be 
gan  to  tell  of  wonderful  feats  of  strength  he  had 
accomplished  when  he  was  a  young  man.  Why,  at 
one  time  he  had  knocked  down  a  half-grown  heifer 
with  a  blow  of  his  fist  between  the  eyes,  sure,  and 
the  heifer  had  just  stiffened  out  and  trembled  all 
over  and  died  without  getting  up. 

McTeague  told  this  story  again,  and  yet  again. 
All  through  the  afternoon  he  could  be  overheard 
relating  the  wonder  to  any  one  who  would  listen, 
229 


McTeague 

exaggerating  the  effect  of  his  blow,  inventing  terrific 
details.  Why,  the  heifer  had,  just  frothed  at  the 
mouth,  and  his  eyes  had  rolled  up — ah,  sure,  his  eyes 
rolled  up  just  like  that — and  the  butcher  had  said  his 
skull  was  all  mashed  in — just  all  mashed  in,  sure, 
that's  the  word — just  as  if  from  a  sledge-hammer. 

Notwithstanding  his  reconciliation  with  the  den 
tist  on  the  boat,  Marcus's  gorge  rose  within  him  at 
McTeague's  boasting  swagger.  When  McTeague 
had  slapped  him  on  the  back,  Marcus  had  retired  to 
some  little  distance  while  he  recovered  his  breath, 
and  glared  at  the  dentist  fiercely  as  he  strode  up  and 
down,  glorying  in  the  admiring  glances  of  the 
women. 

"  Ah,  one-horse  dentist,"  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth.  "  Ah,  zinc-plugger,  cow-killer,  I'd  like  to 
show  you  once,  you  overgrown  mucker,  you — you 
— cow-killer! " 

When  he  rejoined  the  group,  he  found  them  pre 
paring  for  a  wrestling  bout. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Heise,  "  we'll  have  a  tour 
nament.  Marcus  and  I  will  rastle,  and  Doc  and 
Ryer,  and  then  the  winners  will  rastle  each  other." 

The  women  clapped  their  hands  excitedly.  This 
would  be  exciting.  Trina  cried: 

"  Better  let  me  hold  your  money,  Mac,  and  your 
keys,  so  as  you  won't  lose  them  out  of  your  pockets." 
The  men  gave  their  valuables  into  the  keeping  of 
their  wives  and  promptly  set  to  work. 

The    dentist    thrust    Ryer    down    without    even 

changing  his  grip;  Marcus  and  the  harness-maker 

struggled  together  for  a  few  moments  till  Heise  all 

at  once  slipped  on  a  bit  of  turf  and  fell  backwards. 

230 


McTeague 

As  they  toppled  over  together,  Marcus  writhed  him 
self  from  under  his  opponent,  and,  as  they  reached 
the  ground,  forced  down  first  one  shoulder  and  then 
the  other. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  panted  the  harness-maker, 
good-naturedly,  "  I'm  down.  It's  up  to  you  and 
Doc  now,"  he  added,  as  he  got  to  his  feet. 

The  match  between  McTeague  and  Marcus 
promised  to  be  interesting.  The  dentist,  of  course, 
had  an  enormous  advantage  in  point  of  strength, 
but  Marcus  prided  himself  on  his  wrestling,  and 
knew  something  about  strangle-holds  and  half- 
Nelsons.  The  men  drew  back  to  allow  them  a  free 
space  as  they  faced  each  other,  while  Trina  and  the 
other  women  rose  to  their  feet  in  their  excitement. 

"  I  bet  Mac  will  throw  him,  all  the  same,"  said 
Trina. 

"All  ready!"  cried  Ryer. 

The  dentist  and  Marcus  stepped  forward,  eying 
each  other  cautiously.  They  circled  around  the  im 
promptu  ring,  Marcus  watching  eagerly  for  an 
opening.  He  ground  his  teeth,  telling  himself  he 
would  throw  McTeague  if  it  killed  him.  Ah,  he'd 
show  him  now.  Suddenly  the  two  men  caught  at 
each  other;  Marcus  went  to  his  knees.  The  dentist 
threw  his  vast  bulk  on  his  adversary's  shoulders  and, 
thrusting  a  huge  palm  against  his  face,  pushed  him 
backwards  and  downwards.  It  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion  to  resist  that  enormous  strength.  Marcus 
wrenched  himself  over  and  fell  face  downward  on 
the  ground. 

McTeague  rose  on  the  instant  with  a  great  laugh 
of  exultation. 


McTeague 

"  You're  down!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Marcus  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Down  nothing,"  he  vociferated,  with  clenched 
fists.  "  Down  nothing,  by  damn!  You  got  to 
throw  me  so's  my  shoulders  touch." 

McTeague  was  stalking  about,  swelling  with 
pride. 

"  Hoh,  you're  down.  I  threw  you.  Didn't  I  throw 
him,  Trina?  Hoh,  you  can't  rastle  me" 

Marcus  capered  with  rage. 

"You  didn't!  you  didn't!  you  didn't!  and  you 
can't!  You  got  to  give  me  another  try." 

The  other  men  came  crowding  up.  Everybody 
was  talking  at  once. 

"  He's  right." 

"  You  didn't  throw  him." 

"  Both  his  shoulders  at  the  same  time." 

Trina  clapped  and  waved  her  hand  at  McTeague 
from  where  she  stood  on  the  little  slope  of  lawn 
above  the  wrestlers.  Marcus  broke  through 
the  group,  shaking  all  over  with  excitement  and 
rage. 

"  I  tell  you  that  ain't  the  way  to  rastle.  You've  got 
to  throw  a  man  so's  his  shoulders  touch.  You  got 
to  give  me  another  bout." 

'  That's  straight,"  put  in  Heise,  "  both  his  shoul 
ders  down  at  the  same  time.  Try  it  again.  You 
and  Schouler  have  another  try." 

McTeague  was  bewildered  by  so  much  simulta 
neous  talk.  He  could  not  make  out  what  it  was  all 
about.  Could  he  have  offended  Marcus  again? 

"What?  What?  Huh?  What  is  it?"  he  exclaimed 
in  perplexity,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 
232 


McTeague 

"  Come  on,  you  must  rastle  me  again,"  s-houted 
Marcus. 

"  Sure,  sure,"  cried  the  dentist.  "  I'll  rastle  you 
again.  I'll  rastle  everybody,"  he  cried,  suddenly 
struck  with  an  idea.  Trina  looked  on  in  some  ap 
prehension. 

"  Mark  gets  so  mad,"  she  said,  half  aloud. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Selina.  "  Mister  Schouler's  got 
an  awful  quick  temper,  but  he  ain't  afraid  of  any 
thing." 

"  All  ready!  "  shouted  Ryer. 

This  time  Marcus  was  more  careful.  Twice,  as 
McTeague  rushed  at  him,  he  slipped  cleverly  away. 
But  as  the  dentist  came  in  a  third  time,  with  his 
head  bowed,  Marcus,  raising  himself  to  his  full 
height,  caught  him  with  both  arms  around  the 
neck.  The  dentist  gripped  at  him  and  rent  away 
the  sleeve  of  his  shirt.  There  was  a  great  laugh. 

"  Keep  your  shirt  on,"  cried  Mrs.  Ryer. 

The  two  men  were  grappling  at  each  other  wildly. 
The  party  could  hear  them  panting  and  grunting  as 
they  labored  and  struggled.  Their  boots  tore  up 
great  clods  of  turf.  Suddenly  they  came  to  the 
ground  with  a  tremendous  shock.  But  even  as 
they  were  in  the  act  of  falling,  Marcus,  like  a  very 
eel,  writhed  in  the  dentist's  clasp  and  fell  upon  his 
side.  McTeague  crashed  down  upon  him  like  the 
collapse  of  a  felled  ox. 

"  Now,  you  gotta  turn  him  on  his  back,"  shouted 
Heise  to  the  dentist.  "  He  ain't  down  if  you  don't." 

With  his  huge  salient  chin  digging  into  Marcus's 
shoulder,  the  dentist  heaved  and  tugged.  His  face 
was  flaming,  his  huge  shock  of  yellow  hair  fell  over 
233 


McTeague 

his  forehead,  matted  with  sweat.  Marcus  began  to 
yield  despite  his  frantic  efforts.  One  shoulder  was 
down,  now  the  other  began  to  go;  gradually,  grad 
ually  it  was  forced  over.  The  little  audience  held  its 
breath  in  the  suspense  of  the  moment.  Selina 
broke  the  silence,  calling  out  shrilly: 

"  Ain't  Doctor  McTeague  just  that  strong!  " 

Marcus  heard  it,  and  his  fury  came  instantly  to 
a  head.  Rage  at  his  defeat  at  the  hands  of  the  den 
tist  and  before  Selina's  eyes,  the  hate  he  still  bore 
his  old-time  "  pal "  and  the  impotent  wrath  of  his 
own  powerlessness  were  suddenly  unleashed. 

"  God  damn  you!  get  off  of  me,"  he  cried  under 
his  breath,  spitting  the  words  as  a  snake  spits  its 
venom.  The  little  audience  uttered  a  cry.  With 
the  oath  Marcus  had  twisted  his  head  and  had  bit 
ten  through  the  lobe  of  the  dentist's  ear.  There 
was  a  sudden  flash  of  bright-red  blood. 

Then  followed  a  terrible  scene.  The  brute  that 
in  McTeague  lay  so  close  to  the  surface  leaped  in 
stantly  to  life,  monstrous,  not  to  be  resisted.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  shrill  and  meaningless 
clamor,  totally  unlike  the  ordinary  bass  of  his  speak 
ing  tones.  It  was  the  hideous  yelling  of  a  hurt 
beast,  the  squealing  of  a  wounded  elephant.  He 
framed  no  words;  in  the  rush  of  high-pitched  sound 
that  issued  from  his  wide-open  mouth  there  was 
nothing  articulate.  It  was  something  no  longer 
human;  it  was  rather  an  echo  from  the  jungle. 

Sluggish  enough  and  slow  to  anger  on  ordinary 

occasions,  McTeague  when  finally  aroused  became 

another  man.     His  rage  was  a  kind  of  obsession,  an 

evil  mania,  the  drunkenness  of  passion,  the  exalted 

234 


McTeague 

and  perverted  fury  of  the  Berserker,  blind  and  deaf, 
a  thing  insensate. 

As  he  rose  he  caught  Marcus's  wrist  in  both  his 
hands.  He  did  not  strike,  he  did  not  know  what 
he  was  doing.  His  only  idea  was  to  batter  the  life 
out  of  the  man  before  him,  to  crush  and  annihilate 
him  upon  the  instant.  Gripping  his  enemy  in  his 
enormous  hands,  hard  and  knotted,  and  covered 
with  a  stiff  fell  of  yellow  hair — the  hands  of  the  old- 
time  car-boy — he  swung  him  wide,  as  a  hammer- 
thrower  swings  his  hammer.  Marcus's  feet  flipped 
from  the  ground,  he  spun  through  the  air  about 
McTeague  as  helpless  as  a  bundle  of  clothes.  All 
at  once  there  was  a  sharp  snap,  almost  like  the  re 
port  of  a  small  pistol.  Then  Marcus  rolled  over 
and  over  upon  the  ground  as  McTeague  released  his 
grip;  his  arm,  the  one  the  dentist  had  seized,  bend 
ing  suddenly,  as  though  a  third  joint  had  formed 
between  wrist  and  elbow.  The  arm  was  broken. 

But  by  this  time  every  one  was  crying  out  at  once. 
Heise  and  Ryer  ran  in  between  the  two  men.  Selina 
turned  her  head  away.  Trina  was  wringing  her 
hands  and  crying  in  an  agony  of  dread: 

"Oh,  stop  them,  stop  them!  Don't  let  them 
fight.  Oh,  it's  too  awful." 

"  Here,  here,  Doc,  quit.  Don't  make  a  fool  of 
yourself,"  cried  Heise,  clinging  to  the  dentist. 
"  That's  enough  now.  Listen  to  me,  will  you?  " 

"  Oh,  Mac,  Mac,"  cried  Trina,  running  to  her 
husband.  "  Mac,  dear,  listen;  it's  me,  it's  Trina, 
look  at  me,  you " 

"  Get  hold  of  his  other  arm,  will  you,  Ryer?  " 
panted  Heise.     "  Quick!  " 
235 


McTeague 

"  Mac,  Mac,"  cried  Trina,  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

"For  God's  sake,  hold  up,  Doc,  will -you?" 
shouted  the  harness-maker.  "  You  don't  want  to 
kill  him,  do  you?  " 

Mrs.  Ryer  and  Heise's  lame  wife  were  filling  the 
air  with  their  outcries.  Selina  was  giggling  with 
hysteria.  Marcus,  terrified,  but  too  brave  to  run, 
had  picked  up  a  jagged  stone  with  his  left  hand  and 
stood  on  the  defensive.  His  swollen  right  arm, 
from  which  the  shirt  sleeve  had  been  torn,  dangled 
at  his  side,  the  back  of  the  hand  twisted  where  the 
palm  should  have  been.  The  shirt  itself  was  a  mass 
of  grass  stains  and  was  spotted  with  the  dentist's 
blood. 

But  McTeague,  in  the  centre  of  the  group  that 
struggled  to  hold  him,  was  nigh  to  madness.  The 
side  of  his  face,  his  neck,  and  all  the  shoulder  and 
breast  of  his  shirt  were  covered  with  blood.  He 
had  ceased  to  cry  out,  but  kept  muttering  between 
his  gripped  jaws,  as  he  labored  to  tear  himself  free 
of  the  retaining  hands: 

"  Ah,  I'll  kill  him!  Ah,  I'll  kill  him!  I'll  kill  him! 
Damn  you,  Heise,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  trying  to 
strike  the  harness-maker,  "  let  go  of  me,  will  you!  " 

Little  by  little  they  pacified  him,  or  rather  (for  he 
paid  but  little  attention  to  what  was  said  to  him) 
his  bestial  fury  lapsed  by  degrees.  He  turned 
away  and  let  fall  his  arms,  drawing  long  breaths, 
and  looking  stupidly  about  him,  now  searching 
helplessly  upon  the  ground,  now  gazing  vaguely 
into  the  circle  of  faces  about  him.  His  ear  bled  as 
though  it  would  never  stop. 
236 


McTeague 

"  Say,  Doctor,"  asked  Heise,  "  what's  the  best 
thing  to  do? " 

"  Huh?  "  answered  McTeague.  "  What — what 
do  you  mean?  What  is  it?  " 

"  What'll  we  do  to  stop  this  bleeding  here?  " 

McTeague  did  not  answer,  but  looked  intently  at 
the  blood-stained  bosom  of  his  shirt. 

"  Mac,"  cried  Trina,  her  face  close  to  his,  "  tell 
us  something — the  best  thing  we  can  do  to  stop 
your  ear  bleeding." 

"  Collodium,"  said  the  dentist. 

"  But  we  can't  get  to  that  right  away;  we — 

"  There's  some  ice  in  our  lunch  basket,"  broke 
in  Heise.  "  We  brought  it  for  the  beer;  and  take 
the  napkins  and  make  a  bandage." 

"  Ice,"  muttered  the  dentist,  "  sure,  ice,  that's 
the  word." 

Mrs.  Heise  and  the  Ryers  were  looking  after 
Marcus's  broken  arm.  Selina  sat  on  the  slope  of  the 
grass,  gasping  and  sobbing.  Trina  tore  the  nap 
kins  into  strips,  and,  crushing  some  of  the  ice,  made 
a  bandage  for  her  husband's  head. 

The  party  resolved  itself  into  two  groups;  the 
Ryers  and  Airs.  Heise  bending  over  Marcus,  while 
the  harness-maker  and  Trina  came  and  went  about 
McTeague,  sitting  on  the  ground,  his  shirt,  a  mere 
blur  of  red  and  white,  detaching  itself  violently 
from  the  background  of  pale-green  grass.  Be 
tween  the  two  groups  was  the  torn  and  trampled  bit 
of  turf,  the  wrestling  ring;  the  picnic  baskets,  to 
gether  with  empty  beer  bottles,  broken  egg-shells, 
and  discarded  sardine  tins,  were  scattered  here  and 
there.  In  the  middle  of  the  improvised  wrestling 
237 


McTeague 

ring  the  sleeve  of  Marcus's  shirt  fluttered  occasion 
ally  in  the  sea  breeze. 

Nobody  was  paying  any  attention  to  Selina.  All 
at  once  she  began  to  giggle  hysterically  again,  then 
cried  out  with  a  peal  of  laughter: 

"  Oh,  What  a  way  for  our  picnic  to  end !  " 


230 


XII. 

"  Now,  then,  Maria,"  said  Zerkow,  his  cracked, 
strained  voice  just  rising  above  a  whisper,  hitching 
his  chair  closer  to  the  table,  "  now,  then,  my  girl, 
let's  have  it  all  over  again.  Tell  us  about  the  gold 
plate — the  service.  Begin  with,  '  There  were  over  a 
hundred  pieces  and  every  one  of  them  gold.' '; 

"  I  don'  know  what  you're  talking  about,  Zer 
kow,"  answered  Maria.  "  There  never  was  no  gold 
plate,  no  gold  service.  I  guess  you  must  have 
dreamed  it." 

Maria  and  the  red-headed  Polish  Jew  had  been 
tnarried  about  a  month  after  the  McTeague's  pic 
nic  which  had  ended  in  such  lamentable  fashion. 
Zerkow  had  taken  Maria  home  to  his  wretched 
hovel  in  the  alley  back  of  the  flat,  and  the  flat  had 
been  obliged  to  get  another  maid  of  all  work.  Time 
passed,  a  month,  six  months,  a  whole  year  went 
by.  At  length  Maria  gave  birth  to  a  child,  a 
wretched,  sickly  child,  with  not  even  strength 
enough  nor  wits  enough  to  cry.  At  the  time  of  its 
birth  Maria  was  out  of  her  mind,  and  continued  in 
a  state  of  dementia  for  nearly  ten  days.  She  re 
covered  just  in  time  to  make  the  arrangements  for 
the  baby's  burial.  Neither  Zerkow  nor  Maria  was 
much  affected  by  either  the  birth  or  the  death  of 
this  little  child.  Zerkow  had  welcomed  it  with  pro 
nounced  disfavor,  since  it  had  a  mouth  to  be  fed  and 
239 


McTeague 

wants  to  be  provided  for.  Maria  was  out  of  her 
head  so  much  of  the  time  that  she  could  scarcely  re 
member  how  it  looked  when  alive.  The  child  was  a 
mere  incident  in  their  lives,  a  thing  that  had  come 
undesired  and  had  gone  unregretted.  It  had  not 
even  a  name;  a  strange,  hybrid  little  being,  come 
and  gone  within  a  fortnight's  time,  yet  combining 
in  its  puny  little  body  the  blood  of  the  Hebrew,  the 
Pole,  and  the  Spaniard. 

But  the  birth  of  this  child  had  peculiar  conse 
quences.  Maria  came  out  of  her  dementia,  and  in 
a  few  days  the  household  settled  itself  again  to  its 
sordid  regime  and  Maria  went  about  her  duties  as 
usual.  Then  one  evening,  about  a  week  after  the 
child's  burial,  Zerkow  had  asked  Maria  to  tell  him 
the  story  of  the  famous  service  of  gold  plate  for 
the  hundredth  time. 

Zerkow  had  come  to  believe  in  this  story  infalli 
bly.  He  was  immovably  persuaded  that  at  one  time 
Maria  or  Maria's  people  had  possessed  these  hun 
dred  golden  dishes.  In  his  perverted  mind  the  hal 
lucination  had  developed  still  further.  Not  only 
had  that  service  of  gold  plate  once  existed,  but  it 
existed  now,  entire,  intact;  not  a  single  burnished 
golden  piece  of  it  was  missing.  It  was  somewhere, 
somebody  had  it,  locked  away  in  that  leather  trunk 
with  its  quilted  lining  and  round  brass  locks.  It 
was  to  be  searched  for  and  secured,  to  be  fought  for, 
to  be  gained  at  all  hazards.  Maria  must  know 
where  it  was;  by  dint  of  questioning,  Zerkow  would 
surely  get  the  information  from  her.  Some  day,  if 
only  he  was  persistent,  he  would  hit  upon  the  right 
combination  of  questions,  the  right  suggestion  that 
240 


McTeague 

would  disentangle  Maria's  confused  recollections. 
Maria  would  tell  him  where  the  thing  was  kept,  was 
concealed,  was  buried,  and  he  would  go  to  that 
place  and  secure  it,  and  all  that  wonderful  gold 
would  be  his  forever  and  forever.  This  service  of 
plate  had  come  to  be  Zerkow's  mania. 

On  this  particular  evening,  about  a  week  after 
the  child's  burial,  in  the  wretched  back  room  of  the 
junk  shop,  Zerkow  had  made  Maria  sit  down  to  the 
table  opposite  him — the  whiskey  bottle  and  the  red 
glass  tumbler  with  its  broken  base  between  them — 
and  had  said: 

"  Now,  then,  Maria,  tell  us  that  story  of  the  gold 
dishes  again." 

Maria  stared  at  him,  an  expression  of  perplexity 
coming  into  her  face. 

"  What  gold  dishes?  "  said  she. 

"  The  ones  your  people  used  to  own  in  Central 
America.  Come  on,  Maria,  begin,  begin."  The 
Jew  craned  himself  forward,  his  lean  fingers  clawing 
eagerly  at  his  lips. 

"What  gold  plate?"  said  Maria,  frowning  at 
him  as  she  drank  her  whiskey.  "  What  gold  plate? 
/  don'  know  what  you're  talking  about,  Zerkow." 

Zerkow  sat  back  in  his  chair,  staring  at  her. 

"  Why,  your  people's  gold  dishes,  what  they  used 
to  eat  off  of.  You've  told  me  about  it  a  hundred 
times." 

"  You're  crazy,  Zerkow,"  said  Maria.  "  Push  the 
bottle  here,  will  you?  " 

"  Come,  now,"  insisted  Zerkow,  sweating  with 
desire,  "come,  now,  my  girl,  don't  be  a  fool;  let's 
have  it,  let's  have  it.  Begin  now,  '  There  were 

16  241 


McTeague 

more'n  a  hundred  pieces,  and  every  one  of  'em  gold.' 
Oh,  you  know;  come  on,  come  on." 

"  I  don't  remember  nothing  of  the  kind,"  pro 
tested  Maria,  reaching  for  the  bottle.  Zerkow 
snatched  it  from  her. 

"  You  fool!"  he  wheezed,  trying  to  raise  his 
broken  voice  to  a  shout.  "You  fool!  Don't  you 
dare  try  an'  cheat  me,  or  I'll  do  for  you.  You  know 
about  the  gold  plate,  and  you  know  where  it  is." 
Suddenly  he  pitched  his  voice  at  the  prolonged 
rasping  shout  with  which  he  made  his  street  cry. 
He  rose  to  his  feet,  'his  long,  prehensile  ringers 
curled  into  fists.  He  was  menacing,  terrible  in  his 
rage.  He  leaned  over  Maria,  his  fists  in  her  face. 

"  I  believe  you've  got  it!  "  he  yelled.  "  I  believe 
you've  got  it,  an'  are  hiding  it  from  me.  Where 
is  it,  where  is  it?  Is  it  here?"  he  rolled  his  eyes 
wildly  about  the  room.  "  Hey?  hey?  "  he  went  on, 
shaking  Maria  by  the  shoulders.  "Where  is  it? 
Is  it  here?  Tell  me  where  it  is.  Tell  me,  or  I'll  do  for 
you!" 

"  It  ain't  here,"  cried  Maria,  wrenching  from  him. 
"  It  ain't  anywhere.  What  gold  plate?  What  are 
you  talking  about?  I  don't  remember  nothing 
about  no  gold  plate  at  all." 

No,  Maria  did  not  remember.  The  trouble  and 
turmoil  of  her  mind  consequent  upon  the  birth  of 
her  child  seemed  to  have  readjusted  her  disordered 
ideas  upon  this  point.  Her  mania  had  come  to  a 
crisis,  which  in  subsiding  had  cleared  her  brain  of 
its  one  illusion.  She  did  not  remember.  Or  it  was 
possible  that  the  gold  plate  she  had  once  remem 
bered  had  had  some  foundation  in  fact,  that  her 
242 


McTeague 

recital  of  its  splendors  had  been  truth,  sound  and 
sane.  It  was  possible  that  now  her  for  get  fulness  of 
it  was  some  form  of  brain  trouble,  a  relic  of  the 
dementia  of  childbirth.  At  all  events  Maria  did  not 
remember;  the  idea  of  the  gold  plate  had  passed 
entirely  out  of  her  mind,  and  it  was  now  Zerkow 
who  labored  under  its  hallucination.  It  was  now 
Zerkow,  the  raker  of  the  city's  muck  heap,  the 
searcher  after  gold,  that  saw  that  wonderful  service 
in  the  eye  of  his  perverted  mind.  It  was  he  who 
could  now  describe  it  in  a  language  almost  eloquent. 
Maria  had  been  content  merely  to  remember  it;  but 
Zerkow's  avarice  goaded  him  to  a  belief  that  it  was 
still  in  existence,  hid  somewhere,  perhaps  in  that 
very  house,  stowed  away  there  by  Maria.  For  it 
stood  to  reason,  didn't  it,  that  Maria  could  not  have 
described  it  with  such  wonderful  accuracy  and  such 
careful  detail  unless  she  had  seen  it  recently — the 
day  before,  perhaps,  or  that  very  day,  or  that  very 
hour,  that  very  hour? 

"  Look  out  for  yourself,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely, 
to  his  wife.  "  Look  out  for  yourself,  my  girl.  I'll 
hunt  for  it,  and  hunt  for  it,  and  hunt  for  it,  and  some 
day  I'll  find  it—/  will,  you'll  see— I'll  find  it,  I'll  find 
it;  and  if  I  don't,  I'll  find  a  way  that'll  make  you  tell 
me  wrhere  it  is.  I'll  make  you  speak — believe  me,  I 
will,  I  will,  my  girl — trust  me  for  that." 

And  at  night  Maria  would  sometimes  wake  to 
find  Zerkow  gone  from  the  bed,  and  would  see  him 
burrowing  into  some  corner  by  the  light  of  his  dark- 
lantern  and  would  hear  him  mumbling  to  himself: 
i(  There  were  more'n  a  hundred  pieces,  and  every 
one  of  'em  gold — when  the  leather  trunk  was  opened 
243 


McTeague 

it  fair  dazzled  your  eyes — why,  just  that  punch-bowl 
was  worth  a  fortune,  I  guess;  solid,  solid,  heavy, 
rich,  pure  gold,  nothun  but  gold,  gold,  heaps  and 
heaps  of  it — what  a  glory!  I'll  find  it  yet,  I'll  find  it. 
It's  here  somewheres,  hid  somewheres  in  this 
house." 

At  length  his  continued  ill  success  began  to  exas 
perate  him.  One  day  he  took  his  whip  from  his 
junk  wagon  and  thrashed  Maria  with  it,  gasping  the 
while,  "  Where  is  it,  you  beast?  Where  is  it?  Tell 
me  where  it  is;  I'll  make  you  speak." 

"  I  don'  know,  I  don'  know,"  cried  Maria,  dodg 
ing  his  blows.  "  I'd  tell  you,  Zerkow,  if  I  knew;  but 
I  don'  know  nothing  about  it.  How  can  I  tell  you 
if  I  don' know?" 

Then  one  evening  matters  reached  a  crisis.  Mar 
cus  Schouler  was  in  his  room,  the  room  in  the 
flat  just  over  McTeague's  "  Parlors "  which  he 
had  always  occupied.  It  was  between  eleven  and 
twelve  o'clock.  The  vast  house  was  quiet;  Polk 
Street  outside  was  very  still,  except  for  the  occa 
sional  whirr  and  trundle  of  a  passing  cable  car  and 
the  persistent  calling  of  ducks  and  geese  in  the 
deserted  market  directly  opposite.  Marcus  was  in 
his  shirt  sleeves,  perspiring  and  swearing  with  ex 
ertion  as  he  tried  to  get  all  his  belongings  into  an 
absurdly  inadequate  trunk.  The  room  was  in  great 
confusion.  It  looked  as  though  Marcus  was  about 
to  move.  He  stood  in  front  of  his  trunk,  his  pre 
cious  silk  hat  in  its  hat-box  in  his  hand.  He  was 
raging  at  the  perverseness  of  a  pair  of  boots  that 
refused  to  fit  in  his  trunk,  no  matter  how  he  ar 
ranged  them. 

244 


McTeague 

"  I've  tried  you  so,  and  I've  tried  you  so"  he  ex 
claimed  fiercely,  between  his  teeth,  "  and  you  won't 
go."  He  began  to  swear  horribly,  grabbing  at  the 
boots  with  his  free  hand.  "  Pretty  soon  I  won't 
take  you  at  all;  I  won't,  for  a  fact." 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  rush  of  feet  upon 
the  back  stairs  and  a  clamorous  pounding  upon 
his  door.  He  opened  it  to  let  in  Maria  Macapa, 
her  hair  dishevelled  and  her  eyes  starting  with 
terror. 

"  Oh,  Mister  Schouler,"  she  gasped,  "  lock  the 
door  quick.  Don't  let  him  get  me.  He's  got  a  knife, 
and  he  says  sure  he's  going  to  do  for  me,  if  I  don't 
tell  him  where  it  is." 

"Who  has?  What  has?  Where  is  what?" 
shouted  Marcus,  flaming  with  excitement  upon  the 
instant.  He  opened  the  door  and  peered  down  the 
dark  hall,  both  fists  clenched,  ready  to  fight — he  did 
not  know  whom,  and  he  did  not  know  why. 

"  It's  Zerkow,"  wailed  Maria,  pulling  him  back 
into  the  room  and  bolting  the  door,  "  and  he's  got 
a  knife  as  long  as  that.  Oh,  my  Lord,  here  he  comes 
now!  Ain't  that  him?  Listen." 

Zerkow  was  coming  up  the  stairs,  calling  for 
Maria. 

"  Don't  you  let  him  get  me,  will  you,  Mister 
Schouler?"  gasped  Maria. 

"  I'll  break  him  in  two,"  shouted  Marcus,  livid 
with  rage.  "  Think  I'm  afraid  of  his  knife?  " 

"  I  know  where  you  are,"  cried  Zerkow,  on  the 

landing    outside.      "  You're    in    Schouler's    room. 

What  are  you  doing  in  Schouler's  room  at  this  time 

of    night?      Come    outa    there;    you    oughta    be 

245 


McTeague 

ashamed.    I'll  do  for  you  yet,  my  girl.    Come  outa 
there  once,  an'  see  if  I  don't." 

"  I'll  do  for  you  myself,  you  dirty  Jew,"  shouted 
Marcus,  unbolting  the  door  and  running  out  into 
the  hall. 

"  I  want  my  wife,"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  backing 
down  the  stairs.  "  What's  she  mean  by  running 
away  from  me  and  going  into  your  room?  " 

"  Look  out,  he's  got  a  knife! "  cried  Maria 
through  the  crack  of  the  door. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are.  Come  outa  that,  and  come 
back  home,"  exclaimed  Zerkow. 

"  Get  outa  here  yourself,"  cried  Marcus,  advanc 
ing  on  him  angrily.  "  Get  outa  here." 

"Maria's  gota  come  too." 

"  Get  outa  here,"  vociferated  Marcus,  "  an'  put  up 
that  knife.  /  see  it;  you  needn't  try  an'  hide  it  be 
hind  your  leg.  Give  it  to  me,  anyhow,"  he  shouted 
suddenly,  and  before  Zerkow  was  aware,  Marcus 
had  wrenched  it  away.  "  Now,  get  outa  here." 

Zerkow  backed  away,  peering  and  peeping  over 
Marcus's  shoulder. 

"  I  want  Maria." 

"  Get  outa  here.  Get  along  out,  or  I'll  put  you 
out."  The  street  door  closed.  The  Jew  was  gone. 

"Huh!"  snorted  Marcus,  swelling  with  arro 
gance.  "Huh!  Think  I'm  afraid  of  his  knife?  I 
ain't  afraid  of  anybody,"  he  shouted  pointedly,  for 
McTeague  and  his  wife,  roused  by  the  clamor,  were 
peering  over  the  banisters  from  the  landing  above. 
"  Not  of  anybody,"  repeated  Marcus. 

Maria  came  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Is  he  gone?     Is  he  sure  gone?  " 
246 


McTeague 

"  What  was  the  trouble?  "  inquired  Marcus,  sud 
denly. 

"  I  woke  up  about  an  hour  ago,"  Maria  explained, 
"  and  Zerkow  wasn't  in  bed;  maybe  he  hadn't  come 
to  bed  at  all.  He  was  down  on  his  knees  by  the 
sink,  and  he'd  pried  up  some  boards  off  the  floor  and 
was  digging  there.  He  had  his  dark-lantern.  He 
was  digging  with  that  knife,  I  guess,  and  all  the 
time  he  kept  mumbling  to  himself,  '  More'n  a  hun 
dred  pieces,  an'  every  one  of  'em  gold;  more'n  a 
hundred  pieces,  an'  every  one  of  'em  gold.'  Then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  he  caught  sight  of  me.  I  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  he  jumped  up  and  came  at  me  with 
his  knife,  an'  he  says,  'Where  is  it?  Where  is  it? 
I  know  you  got  it  hid  somewheres.  Where  is  it? 
Tell  me  or  I'll  knife  you.'  I  kind  of  fooled  him  and 
kept  him  off  till  I  got  my  wrapper  on,  an'  then  I 
run  out.  I  didn't  dare  stay." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  tell  him  about  your  gold 
dishes  for  in  the  first  place?''  cried  Marcus. 

"  I  never  told  him,"  protested  Maria,  with  the 
greatest  energy.  "  I  never  told  him;  I  never  heard 
of  any  gold  dishes.  I  don'  know  where  he  got  the 
idea;  he  must  be  crazy." 

By  this  time  Trina  and  McTeague,  Old  Grannis, 
and  little  Miss  Baker — all  the  lodgers  on  the  upper 
floors  of  the  flat — had  gathered  about  Maria.  Trina 
and  the  dentist,  who  had  gone  to  bed,  were  partially 
dressed,  and  Trina's  enormous  mane  of  black  hair 
was  hanging  in  two  thick  braids  far  down  her  back. 
But,  late  as  it  was,  Old  Grannis  and  the  retired 
dressmaker  had  still  been  up  and  about  when  Maria 
had  aroused  them. 

247 


McTeague 

"  Why,  Maria,"  said  Trina,  "  you  always  used  to 
tell  us  about  your  gold  dishes.  You  said  your  folks 
used  to  have  them." 

"  Never,  never,  never!  "  exclaimed  Maria,  ve 
hemently.  "  You  folks  must  all  be  crazy.  I  never 
heard  of  any  gold  dishes." 

"  Well,"  spoke  up  Miss  Baker,  "  you're  a  queer 
girl,  Maria;  that's  all  I  can  say."  She  left  the 
group  and  returned  to  her  room.  Old  Grannis 
watched  her  go  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  in 
a  few  moments  followed  her,  leaving  the  group  as 
unnoticed  as  he  had  joined  it.  By  degrees  the  flat 
quieted  down  again.  Trina  and  McTeague  returned 
to  their  rooms. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  back  now,"  said  Maria.  "  He's 
all  right  now.  I  ain't  afraid  of  him  so  long  as  he 
ain't  got  his  knife." 

"  Well,  say,"  Marcus  called  to  her  as  she 
went  down  stairs,  "  if  he  gets  funny  again,  you 
just  yell  out;  I'll  hear  you.  /  won't  let  him  hurt 
you." 

Marcus  went  into  his  room  again  and  resumed  his 
wrangle  with  the  refractory  boots.  His  eye  fell  on 
Zerkow's  knife,  a  long,  keen-bladed  hunting-knife, 
with  a  buckhorn  handle.  "  I'll  take  you  along 
with  me,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly.  "  I'll  just  need 
you  where  I'm  going." 

Meanwhile,  old  Miss  Baker  was  making  tea  to 
calm  her  nerves  after  the  excitement  of  Maria's  in 
cursion.  This  evening  she  went  so  far  as  to  make 
tea  for  two,  laying  an  extra  place  on  the  other  side 
of  her  little  tea-table,  setting  out  a  cup  and  saucer 
and  one  of  the  Gorham  silver  spoons.  Close  upon 
248 


McTeague 

the  other  side  of  the  partition  Old  Grannis  bound 
uncut  numbers  of  the  "  Nation." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think,  Mac?  "  said  Trina, 
when  the  couple  had  returned  to  their  rooms.  "  I 
think  Marcus  is  going  away." 

"What?  What?"  muttered  the  dentist,  very 
sleepy  and  stupid,  "  what  you  saying?  What's  that 
about  Marcus?  " 

"  I  believe  Marcus  has  been  packing  up,  the  last 
two  or  three  days.  I  wonder  if  he's  going  away." 

"  Who's  going  away?  "  said  McTeague,  blinking 
at  her. 

"  Oh,  go  to  bed,"  said  Trina,  pushing  him  good- 
naturedly.  "  Mac,  you're  the  stupidest  man  I  ever 
knew." 

But  it  was  true.  Marcus  was  going  away.  Trina 
received  a  letter  the  next  morning  from  her  mother. 
The  carpet-cleaning  and  upholstery  business  in 
which  Mr.  Sieppe  had  involved  himself  was  going 
from  bad  to  worse.  Mr.  Sieppe  had  even  been 
obliged  to  put  a  mortgage  upon  their  house.  Mrs. 
Sieppe  didn't  know  what  was  to  become  of  them  all. 
Her  husband  had  even  begun  to  talk  of  emigrating 
to  New  Zealand.  Meanwhile,  she  informed  Trina 
that  Mr.  Sieppe  had  finally  come  across  a  man  with 
whom  Marcus  could  "  go  in  with  on  a  ranch,"  a 
cattle  ranch  in  the  southeastern  portion  of  the  State. 
Her  ideas  were  vague  upon  the  subject,  but  she 
knew  that  Marcus  was  wildly  enthusiastic  at  the 
prospect,  and  was  expected  down  before  the  end  of 
the  month.  In  the  meantime,  could  Trina  send 
them  fifty  dollars? 

"  Marcus  is  going  away,  after  all,  Mac,"  said 
249 


McTeague 

Trina  to  her  husband  that  day  as  he  came  out  of 
his  "  Parlors  "  and  sat  down  to  the  lunch  of  sau 
sages,  mashed  potatoes,  and  chocolate  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"Huh?"  said  the  dentist,  a  little  confused. 
"Who's  going  away?  Schouler  going  away? 
Why's  Schouler  going  away?  n 

Trina  explained.  "  Oh !  "  growled  McTeague, 
behind  his  thick  mustache,  "  he  can  go  far  before  /'// 
stop  him." 

"  And,  say,  Mac,"  continued  Trina,  pouring  the 
chocolate,  "  what  do  you  think?  Mamma  wants  me 
— wants  us  to  send  her  fifty  dollars.  She  says 
they're  hard  up." 

"  Well,"  said  the  dentist,  after  a  moment,  "  well, 
I  guess  we  can  send  it,  can't  we?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  easy  to  say,"  complained  Trina,  her 
little  chin  in  the  air,  her  small  pale  lips  pursed.  "  I 
wonder  if  mamma  thinks  we're  millionaires?  " 

"  Trina,  you're  getting  to  be  regular  stingy," 
muttered  McTeague.  "  You're  getting  worse  and 
worse  every  day." 

"  But  fifty  dollars  is  fifty  dollars,  Mac.  Just 
think  how  long  it  takes  you  to  earn  fifty  dollars. 
Fifty  dollars!  That's  two  months  of  our  interest." 

"  Well,"  said  McTeague,  easily,  his  mouth  full 
of  mashed  potato,  "  you  got  a  lot  saved  up." 

Upon  every  reference  to  that  little  hoard  in  the 
brass  match-safe  and  chamois-skin  bag  at  the  bot 
tom  of  her  trunk,  Trina  bridled  on  the  instant. 

"  Don't  talk  that  way,  Mac.     '  A  lot  of  money.' 
What  do  you  call  a  lot  of  money?     I  don't  believe 
I've  got  fifty  dollars  saved." 
250 


McTeague 

"  Hoh!  "  exclaimed  McTeague.  "  Hoh!  I  guess 
you  got  nearer  a  hundred  an'  fifty.  That's  what 
I  guess  you  got." 

"  I've  not,  I've  not"  declared  Trina,  "  and  you 
know  I've  not.  I  wish  mamma  hadn't  asked  me 
for  any  money.  Why  can't  she  be  a  little  more 
economical?  /  manage  all  right.  No,  no,  I  can't 
possibly  afford  to  send  her  fifty." 

"  Oh,  pshaw!  What  will  you  do,  then?"  grum 
bled  her  husband. 

"  I'll  send  her  twenty-five  this  month,  and  tell  her 
I'll  send  the  rest  as  soon  as  I  can  afford  it." 

"  Trina,  you're  a  regular  little  miser,"  said  Mc 
Teague. 

"  I  don't  care,"  answered  Trina,  beginning  to 
laugh.  "  I  guess  I  am,  but  I  can't  help  it,  and  it's 
a  good  fault." 

Trina  put  off  sending  this  money  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  and  her  mother  made  no  mention  of  it  in 
her  next  letter.  "  Oh,  I  guess  if  she  wants  it  so 
bad,"  said  Trina,  "  she'll  speak  about  it  again."  So 
she  again  postponed  the  sending  of  it.  Day  by  day 
she  put  it  off.  When  her  mother  asked  her  for  it  a 
second  time,  it  seemed  harder  than  ever  for  Trina 
to  part  with  even  half  the  sum  requested.  She 
answered  her  mother,  telling  her  that  they  were  very 
hard  up  themselves  for  that  month,  but  that  she 
would  send  down  the  amount  in  a  few  weeks. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Mac,"  she  said  to  her 
husband,  "  you  send  half  and  I'll  send  half;  we'll 
send  twenty-five  dollars  altogether.  Twelve  and 
a  half  apiece.  That's  an  idea.  How  will  that  do?  " 

"  Sure,  sure,"  McTeague  had  answered,  giving 


McTeague 

her  the  money.  Trina  sent  McTeague's  twelve  dol 
lars,  but  never  sent  the  twelve  that  was  to  be  her 
share.  One  day  the  dentist  happened  to  ask  her 
about  it. 

"  You  sent  that  twenty-five  to  your  mother,  didn't 
you?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  long  ago,"  answered  Trina,  without  think 
ing. 

In  fact,  Trina  never  allowed  herself  to  think  very 
much  of  this  affair.  And,  in  fact,  another  matter 
soon  came  to  engross  her  attention.  ^ 

One  Sunday  evening  Trina  and  her  husband  were 
in  their  sitting-room  together.  It  was  dark,  but  the 
lamp  had  not  been  lit.  McTeague  had  brought 
up  some  bottles  of  beer  from  the  "  Wein  Stube  "  on 
the  ground  floor,  where  the  branch  post-office  used 
to  be.  But  they  had  not  opened  the  beer.  It  was 
a  warm  evening  in  summer.  Trina  was  sitting  on 
McTeague's  lap  in  the  bay  window,  and  had  looped 
back  the  Nottingham  curtains  so  the  two  could  look 
out  into  the  darkened  street  and  watch  the  moon 
coming  up  over  the  glass  roof  of  the  huge  pub 
lic  baths.  On  occasions  they  sat  like  this  for  an 
hour  or  so,  "  philandering,"  Trina  cuddling  herself 
down  upon  McTeague's  enormous  body,  rubbing 
her  cheek  against  the  grain  of  his  unshaven  chin, 
kissing  the  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his  head,  or  put 
ting  her  fingers  into  his  ears  and  eyes.  At  times, 
a  brusque  access  of  passion  would  seize  upon  her, 
and,  with  a  nervous  little  sigh,  she  would  clasp  his 
thick  red  neck  in  both  her  small  arms  and  whisper 
in  his  ear: 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Mac,  dear?  love  me  big,  big? 
252 


McTeague 

Sure,  do  you  love  me  as  much  as  you  did  when  we 
were  married?  " 

Puzzled,  McTeague  would  answer:  "Well,  you 
know  it,  don't  you,  Trina?" 

"  But  I  want  you  to  say  so;  say  so  always  and 
always." 

"  Well,  I  do,  of  course  I  do." 

"  Say  it,  then." 

"  Well,  then,  I  love  you." 

"  But  you  don't  say  it  of  your  own  accord." 

"  Well,  what— what— what— I  don't  understand," 
stammered  the  dentist,  bewildered. 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door.  Confused  and 
embarrassed,  as  if  they  were  not  married,  Trina 
scrambled  off  McTeague's  lap,  hastening  to  light 
the  lamp,  whispering,  "  Put  on  your  coat,  Mac,  and 
smooth  your  hair,"  and  making  gestures  for  him  to 
put  the  beer  bottles  out  of  sight.  She  opened  the 
door  and  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Why,  Cousin  Mark!"  she  said.  McTeague 
glared  at  him,  struck  speechless,  confused  beyond 
expression.  Marcus  Schouler,  perfectly  at  his  ease, 
stood  in  the  doorway,  smiling  with  great  .affability. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked,  "  can  I  come  in?  " 

Taken  all  aback,  Trina  could  only  answer: 

"  Why — I  suppose  so.    Yes,  of  course — come  in." 

"  Yes,  yes,  come  in,"  exclaimed  the  dentist,  sud 
denly,  speaking  without  thought.  "  Have  some 
beer?"  he  added,  struck  with  an  idea. 

"  No,  thanks,  Doctor,"  said  Marcus,  pleasantly. 

McTeague  and  Trina  were  puzzled.  What  could 
it  all  mean?  Did  Marcus  want  to  become  reconciled 
to  his  enemy?  "7  know."  Trina  said  co  herself. 
253 


McTeague 

"  He's  going  away,  and  he  wants  to  borrow  some 
money.  He  won't  get  a  penny,  not  a  penny."  She 
set  her  teeth  together  hard. 

"  Well,"  said  Marcus,  "  how's  business,  Doctor?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  McTeague,  uneasily,  "  oh,  I  don' 
know.  I  guess — I  guess,"  he*broke  off  in  helpless 
embarrassment.  They  had  all  sat  down  by  now. 
Marcus  continued,  holding  his  hat  and  his  cane — 
the  black  wand  of  ebony  with  the  gold  top  presented 
to  him  by  the  "  Improvement  Club." 

"Ah!"  said  he,  wagging  his  head  and  looking 
about  the  sitting-room,  "  you  people  have  got  the 
best  fixed  rooms  in  the  whole  flat.  Yes,  sir;  you 
have,  for  a  fact."  He  glanced  from  the  lithograph 
framed  in  gilt  and  red  plush — the  two  little  girls  at 
their  prayers — to  the  "  I'm  Grandpa  "  and  "  I'm 
Grandma  "  pictures,  noted  the  clean  white  matting 
and  the  gay  worsted  tidies  over  the  chair  backs,  and 
appeared  to  contemplate  in  ecstasy  the  framed  pho 
tograph  of  McTeague  and  Trina  in  their  wedding 
finery. 

"  Well,  you  two  are  pretty  happy  together,  ain't 
you?"  said  he,  smiling  good-humoredly. 

"  Oh,  we  don't  complain,"  answered  Trina. 

"  Plenty  of  money,  lots  to  do,  everything  fine, 
hey?" 

"  We've  got  lots  to  do,"  returned  Trina,  thinking 
to  head  him  off,  "  but  we've  not  got  lots  of  money." 

But  evidently  Marcus  wanted  no  money. 

"  Well,  Cousin  Trina,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  knee, 
"  I'm  going  away." 

"Yes,  mamma  wrote  me;  you're  going  on  a 
ranch." 

254 


McTeague 

"  I'm  going  in  ranching  with  an  English  duck," 
corrected  Marcus.  "  Mr.  Sieppe  has  fixed  things. 
We'll  see  if  we  can't  raise  some  cattle.  I  know  a 
lot  about  horses,  and  he's  ranched  some  before — 
this  English  duck.  And  then  I'm  going  to  keep 
my  eye  open  for  a  political  chance  down  there.  I 
got  some  introductions  from  the  President  of  the 
Improvement  Club.  I'll  work  things  somehow,  oh, 
eure." 

"  How  long  you  going  to  be  gone?  "  asked  Trina. 

Marcus  stared. 

"  Why,  I  ain't  ever  coming  back,"  he  vociferated. 
"  I'm  going  to-morrow,  and  I'm  going  for  good.  I 
come  to  say  good-by." 

Marcus  stayed  for  upwards  of  an  hour  that  even- 
ing.  He  talked  on  easily  and  agreeably,  address 
ing  himself  as  much  to  McTeague  as  to  Trina.  At 
last  he  rose. 

"  Well,  good-by,  Doc." 

"  Good-by,  Marcus,"  returned  McTeague.  The 
two  shook  hands. 

"  Guess  we  won't  ever  see  each  other  again,"  con 
tinued  Marcus.  "  But  good  luck  to  you,  Doc. 
Hope  some  day  you'll  have  the  patients  standing  in 
line  on  the  stairs." 

"  Huh!  I  guess  so,  I  guess  so,"  said  the  dentist. 

"  Good-by,  Cousin  Trina." 

"  Good-by,  Marcus,"  answered  Trina.  "  You 
be  sure  to  remember  me  to  mamma,  and  papa, 
and  everybody.  I'm  going  to  make  two  great 
big  sets  of  Noah's  ark  animals  for  the  twins  on 
their  next  birthday;  August  is  too  old  for  toys. 
But  you  tell  the  twins  that  I'll  make  them  some 
255 


McTeague 

great    big    animals.      Good-by,    success    to    you, 
Marcus." 

"  Good-by,  good-by.    Good  luck  to  you  both." 

"  Good-by,  Cousin  Mark." 

"  Good-by,  Marcus." 

He  was  gone. 


256 


XIII. 

One  morning  about  a  week  after  Marcus  had  left 
for  the  southern  part  of  the  State,  McTeague  found 
an  oblong  letter  thrust  through  the  letter-drop  of 
the  door  of  his  "  Parlors."  The  address  was  type 
written.  He  opened  it.  The  letter  had  been  sent 
from  the  City  Hall  and  was  stamped  in  one  corner 
with  the  seal  of  the  State  of  California,  very  official; 
the  form  and  file  numbers  superscribed. 

McTeague  had  been  making  fillings  when  this 
letter  arrived.  He  was  in  his  "  Parlors,"  pottering 
over  his  movable  rack  underneath  the  bird  cage  in 
the  bay  window.  He  was  making  "  blocks  "  to  be 
used  in  large  proximal  cavities  and  "  cylinders  "  for 
commencing  fillings.  He  heard  the  postman's  step 
in  the  hall  and  saw  the  envelopes  begin  to  shuttle 
themselves  through  the  slit  of  his  letter-drop.  Then 
came  the  fat  oblong  envelope,  with  its  official  seal, 
that  dropped  flat-wise  to  the  floor  with  a  sodden, 
dull  impact. 

The  dentist  put  down  the  broach  and  scissors  and 
gathered  up  his  mail.  There  were  four  letters  alto 
gether.  One  was  for  Trina,  in  Selina's  "  elegant " 
handwriting; another  was  an  advertisement  of  a  new 
kind  of  operating  chair  for  dentists;  the  third  was  a 
card  from  a  milliner  on  the  next  block,  announcing 
an  opening;  and  the  fourth,  contained  in  the  fat 
oblong  envelope,  was  a  printed  form  with  blanks 
17  257 


McTeague 

left  for  names  and  dates,  and  addressed  to  Mc 
Teague,  from  an  office  in  the  City  Hall.  McTeague 
read  it  through  laboriously.  "  I  don'  know,  I  don* 
know,"  he  muttered,  looking  stupidly  at  the  rifle 
manufacturer's  calendar.  Then  he  heard  Trina, 
from  the  kitchen,  singing  as  she  made  a  clattering 
noise  with  the  breakfast  dishes.  "  I  guess  I'll  ask 
Trina  about  it,"  he  muttered. 

He  went  through  the  suite,  by  the  sitting-room, 
where  the  sun  was  pouring  in  through  the  looped 
backed  Nottingham  curtains  upon  the  clean  white 
matting  and  the  varnished  surface  of  the  melodeon, 
passed  on  through  the  bedroom,  with  its  framed 
lithographs  of  round-cheeked  English  babies  and 
alert  fox  terriers,  and  canre  out  into  the  brick-paved 
kitchen.  The  kitchen  was  clean  as  a  new  whistle; 
the  freshly  blackened  cook  stove  glowed  like  a 
negro's  hide;  the  tins  and  porcelain-lined  stew- 
pans  might  have  been  of  silver  and  of  ivory.  Trina 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  wiping  off,  with  a 
damp  sponge,  the  oilcloth  table-cover,  on  which 
they  had  breakfasted.  Never  had  she  looked  so 
pretty.  Early  though  it  was,  her  enormous  tiara  of 
swarthy  hair  was  neatly  combed  and  coiled,  not  a 
pin  was  so  much  as  loose.  She  wore  a  blue  calico 
skirt  with  a  white  figure,  and  a  belt  of  imitation 
alligator  skin  clasped  around  her  small,  firmly- 
corseted  waist;  her  shirt  waist  was  of  pink  linen, 
so  new  and  crisp  that  it  crackled  with  every  move 
ment,  while  around  the  collar,  tied  in  a  neat  knot, 
was  one  of  McTeague's  lawn  ties  which  she  had 
appropriated.  Her  sleeves  were  carefully  rolled  up 
almost  to  her  shoulders,  and  nothing  could  have 
258 


McTeague 

been  more  delicious  than  the  sight  of  her  small 
round  arms,  white  as  milk,  moving  back  and  forth 
as  she  sponged  the  table-cover,  a  faint  touch  of  pink 
coming  and  going  at  the  elbows  as  they  bent  and 
straightened.  She  looked  up  quickly  as  her  hus 
band  entered,  her  narrow  eyes  alight,  her  adorable 
little  chin  in  the  air;  her  lips  rounded  and  opened 
with  the  last  words  of  her  song,  so  that  one  could 
catch  a  glint  of  gold  in  the  fillings  of  her  upper 
teeth. 

The  whole  scene — the  clean  kitchen  and  its  clean 
brick  floor;  the  smell  of  coffee  that  lingered  in  the 
air;  Trina  herself,  fresh  as  if  from  a  bath,  and  sing 
ing  at  her  work;  the  morning  sun,  striking  obliquely 
through  the  white  muslin  half-curtain  of  the  window 
and  spanning  the  little  kitchen  with  a  bridge  of 
golden  mist — gave  off,  as  it  were,  a  note  of  gayety 
that  was  not  to  be  resisted.  Through  the  opened 
top  of  the  window  came  the  noises  of  Polk  Street, 
already  long  awake.  One  heard  the  chanting  of 
street  cries,  the  shrill  calling  of  children  on  their 
way  to  school,  the  merry  rattle  of  a  butcher's  cart, 
the  brisk  noise  of  hammering,  or  the  occasional 
prolonged  roll  of  a  cable  car  trundling  heavily  past, 
with  a  vibrant  whirring  of  its  jostled  glass  and  the 
joyous  clanging  of  its  bells. 

"  What  is  it,  Mac,  dear?  "  said  Trina. 

McTeague  shut  the  door  behind  him  with  his 
heel  and  handed  her  the  letter.  Trina  read  it 
through.  Then  suddenly  her  small  hand  gripped 
tightly  upon  the  sponge,  so  that  the  water  started 
from  it  and  dripped  in  a  little  pattering  deluge  upon 
the  bricks. 

*59 


.  McTeague 

The  letter — or  rather  printed  notice — informed 
McTeague  that  he  had  never  received  a  diploma 
from  a  dental  college,  and  that  in  consequence  he 
was  forbidden  to  practise  his  profession  any  longer. 
A  legal  extract  bearing  upon  the  case  was  attached 
in  small  type. 

"  Why,  what's  all  this?  "  said  Trina,  calmly,  with 
out  thought  as  yet. 

"  I  don'  know,  /  don'  know,"  answered  her  hus 
band. 

"  You  can't  practise  any  longer,"  continued 
Trina, — "  '  is  herewith  prohibited  and  enjoined  from 

further  continuing '  "     She  re-read  the  extract, 

her  forehead  lifting  and  puckering.  She  put  the 
sponge  carefully  away  in  its  wire  rack  over  the  sink, 
and  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  table,  spreading  out  the 
notice  before  her.  "  Sit  down,"  she  said  to  Mc 
Teague.  "  Draw  up  to  the  table  here,  Mac,  and 
let's  see  what  this  is." 

v,"I  got  it  this  morning,"  murmured  the  dentist. 
"  It  just  now  came.  I  was  making  some  fillings — 
there,  in  the  '  Parlors,'  in  the  window — and  the 
postman  shoved  it  through  the  door.  I  thought  it 
was  a  number  of  the  '  American  System  of  Den 
tistry  '  at  first,  and  when  I'd  opened  it  and  looked 
at  it  I  thought  I'd  better " 

"  Say,  Mac,"  interrupted  Trina,  looking  up  from 
the  notice,  "  didn't  you  ever  go  to  a  dental  college?  " 

"Huh?    What?    What? "  exclaimed  McTeague. 

"  How  did  you  learn  to  be  a  dentist?  Did  you  go 
to  a  college?" 

"  I  went  along  with  a  fellow  who  came  to  the  mine 
once.     My  mother  sent  me.     We  used  to  go  from 
260 


McTeague 

one  camp  to  another.  I  sharpened  his 
for  him,  and  put  up  his  notices  in  the  towns— £*:.!c!: 
them  up  in  the  post-offices  and  on  the  doors  of  tlic- 
Odd  Fellows'  halls.  He  had  a  wagon." 

"  But  didn't  you  never  go  to  a  college?  " 

"Huh?  What?  College?  No,  I  never  went, 
learned  from  the  fellow." 

Trina  rolled  down  her  sleeves.  She  was  a  little 
paler  than  usual.  She  fastened  the  buttons  into  the 
cuffs  and  said: 

"  But  do  you  know  you  can't  practise  unless 
you're  graduated  from  a  college?  You  haven't  the 
right  to  call  yourself,  '  doctor.'  " 

McTeague  stared  a  moment;  then: 

"  Why,  I've  been  practising  ten  years.  More— 
nearly  twelve." 

"  But  it's  the  law." 

"What's  the  law?" 

"  That  you  can't  practise,  or  call  yourself  doctor, 
unless  you've  got  a  diploma." 

"  What's  that— a  diploma?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  It's  a  kind  of  paper  that 
— that — oh,  Mac,  we're  ruined."  Trina's  voice  rose 
to  a  cry. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Trina?  Ain't  I  a  dentist? 
Ain't  I  a  doctor?  Look  at  my  sign,  and  the  gold 
tooth  you  gave  me.  Why,  I've  been  practising 
nearly  twelve  years." 

Trina  shut  her  lips  tightly,  cleared  her  throat, 
and  pretended  to  resettle  a  hair-pin  at  the  back 
of  her  head. 

"  I  guess  it  isn't  as  bad  as  that,"  she  said,  very 
quietly.     "  Let's  read  this  again.     '  Herewith  pro- 
261 


McTeague 


o 


hibited  and  enjoined  from  further  continuing '  " 

She  read  to  the  end. 

"  Why,  it  isn't  possible,"  she  cried.  "  They  can't 
mean — oh,  Mac,  I  do  believe — pshaw!  "  she  ex 
claimed,  her  pale  face  flushing  "  They  don't  know 
how  good  a  dentist  you  are.  What  difference  does 
a  diploma  make,  if  you're  a  first-class  dentist?  I 
guess  that's  all  right.  Mac,  didn't  you  ever  go  to  a 
dental  college?" 

"  No,"  answered  McTeague,  doggedly.  "  What 
was  the  good?  I  learned  how  to  operate;  wa'n't  that 
enough?  " 

"  Hark,"  said  Trina,  suddenly.  "  Wasn't  that  the 
bell  of  your  office?"  They  had  both  heard  the 
jangling  of  the  bell  that  McTeague  had  hung  over 
the  door  of  his  "  Parlors."  The  dentist  looked  at 
the  kitchen  clock.  . 

"  That's  Vanovitch,"  said  he.  "  He's  a  plumber 
round  on  Sutter  Street.  He's  got  an  appointment 
with  me  to  have  a  bicuspid  pulled.  I  got  to  go 
back  to  work."  He  rose. 

"  But  you  can't,"  cried  Trina,  the  back  of  her 
hand  upon  her  lips,  her  eyes  brimming.  "  Mac, 
don't  you  see?  Can't  you  understand?  You've  got 
to  stop.  Oh,  it's  dreadful!  Listen."  She  hurried 
around  the  table  to  him  and  caught  his  arm  in  both 
her  hands. 

"  Huh?  "  growled  McTeague,  looking  at  her  with 
a  puzzled  frown. 

"  They'll  arrest  you.  You'll  go  to  prison.  You 
can't  work — can't  work  any  more.  We're  ruined." 

Vanovitch  was  pounding  on  the  door  of  the  sit 
ting-room. 

262 


McTeague 

"  He'll  be  gone  in  a  minute,"  exclaimed  Mc 
Teague. 

"Well,  let  him  go.  Tell  him  to  go;  tell  him  to 
come  again.'' 

"  Why,  he's  got  an  appointment  with  me,"  ex 
claimed  McTeague,  his  hand  upon  the  door. 

Trina  caught  him  back.  "  But,  Mac,  you  ain't  a 
dentist  any  longer;  you  ain't  a  doctor.  You  haven't 
the  right  to  work.  You  never  went  to  a  dental 
college." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  never  went  to  a  college,  ain't  I 
a  dentist  just  the  same?  Listen,  he's  pounding  there 
again.  No,  I'm  going,  sure." 

"  Well,  of  course,  go,"  said  Trina,  with  sudden 
reaction.  "  It  ain't  possible  they'll  make  you  stop. 
If  you're  a  good  dentist,  that's  all  that's  wanted.  Go 
on,  Mac;  hurry,  before  he  goes." 

McTeague  went  out,  closing  the  door.  Trina 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  intently  at  the  bricks 
at  her  feet.  Then  she  returned  to  the  table,  and  sat 
down  again  before  the  notice,  and,  resting  her  head 
in  both  her  fists,  read  it  yet  another  time.  Sud 
denly  the  conviction  seized  upon  her  that  it  was  all 
true.  McTeague  would  be  obliged  to  stop  work, 
no  matter  how  good  a  dentist  he  was.  But  why 
had  the  authorities  at  the  City  Hall  waited  this  long 
before  serving  the  notice?  All  at  once  Trina 
snapped  her  fingers,  with  a  quick  flash  of  intelli 
gence. 

"  It's  Marcus  that's  done  it,"  she  cried. 

It  was  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  McTeague  was 
stunned,  stupefied.  He  said  nothing.  Never  in  his 

263 


McTeague 

life  had  he  been  so  taciturn.  At  times  he  did  not 
seem  to  hear  Trina  when  she  spoke  to  him,  and 
often  she  had  to  shake  him  by  the  shoulder  to  arouse 
his  attention.  He  would  sit  apart  in  his  "  Parlors," 
turning  the  notice  about  in  his  enormous  clumsy 
fingers,  reading  it  stupidly  over  and  over  again. 
He  couldn't  understand.  What  had  a  clerk  at  the 
City  Hall  to  do  with  him?  Why  couldn't  they  let 
him  alone? 

"  Oh,  what's  to  become  of  us  now? "  wailed 
Trina.  "  What's  to  become  of  us  now?  "  We're 
paupers,  beggars — and  all  so  sudden."  And  once, 
in  a  quick,  inexplicable  fury,  totally  unlike  anything 
that  McTeague  had  noticed  in  her  before,  she  had 
started  up,  with  fists  and  teeth  shut  tight,  and  had 
cried,  "  Oh,  if  you'd  only  killed  Marcus  Schouler 
that  time  he  fought  you!  " 

McTeague  had  continued  his  work,  acting  from 
sheer  force  of  habit;  his  sluggish,  deliberate  nature, 
methodical,  obstinate,  refusing  to  adapt  itself  to  the 
new  conditions. 

"  Maybe  Marcus  was  only  trying  to  scare  us," 
Trina  had  said.  "  How  are  they  going  to  know 
whether  you're  practising  or  not?  " 

"  I  got  a  mould  to  make  to-morrow,"  McTeague 
said,  "  and  Vanovitch,  that  plumber  round  on  Sutter 
Street,  he's  coming  again  at  three." 

"  Well,  you  go  right  ahead,"  Trina  told  him,  de 
cisively;  "  you  go  right  ahead  and  make  the  mould, 
and  pull  every  tooth  in  Vanovitch's  head  if  you  want 
to.  Who's  going  to  know?  Maybe  they  just  sent 
that  notice  as  a  matter  of  form.  Maybe  Marcus  got 
that  paper  and  filled  it  in  himself." 
264 


McTeague 

The  two  would  lie  awake  all  night  long,  staring 
up  into  the  dark,  talking,  talking,  talking. 

"  Haven't  you  got  any  right  to  practise  if  you've 
not  been  to  a  dental  college,  Mac?  Didn't  you  ever 
go?  "  Trina  would  ask  again  and  again. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  dentist,  "  I  never  went. 
I  learnt  from  the  fellow  I  was  apprenticed  to.  I 
don'  know  anything  about  a  dental  college.  Ain't 
I  got  a  right  to  do  as  I  like?  "  he  suddenly  ex 
claimed. 

"  If  you  know  your  profession,  isn't  that 
enough?  "  cried  Trina. 

"  Sure,  sure,"  growled  McTeague.  "  I  ain't  go 
ing  to  stop  for  them." 

"  You  go  right  on,"  Trina  said,  "  and  I  bet  you 
won't  hear  another  word  about  it." 

"  Suppose  I  go  round  to  the  City  Hall  and  see 
them,"  hazarded  McTeague. 

"  No,  no,  don't  you  do  it,  Mac,"  exclaimed  Trina. 
"  Because,  if  Marcus  has  done  this  just  to  scare  you, 
they  won't  know  anything  about  it  there  at  the  City 
Hall;  but  they'll  begin  to  ask  you  questions,  and  find 
out  that  you  never  had  graduated  from  a  dental 
college,  and  you'd  be  just  as  bad  off  as  ever." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  quit  for  just  a  piece  of 
paper,"  declared  the  dentist.  The  phrase  stuck  to 
him.  All  day  long  he  went  about  their  rooms  or 
continued  at  his  work  in  the  "  Parlors,"  growling 
behind  his  thick  mustache:  "  I  ain't  going  to  quit 
for  just  a  piece  of  paper.  No,  I  ain't  going  to  quit 
for  just  a  piece  of  paper.  Sure  not." 

The  days  passed,  a  week  went  by,  McTeague  con 
tinued  his  work  as  usual.  They  heard  no  more  from 
265 


McTeague 

the  City  Hall,  but  the  suspense  of  the  situation  was 
harrowing.  Trina  was  actually  sick  with  it.  The 
terror  of  the  thing  was  ever  at  their  elbows,  going 
to  bed  with  them,  sitting  down  with  them  at  break 
fast  in  the  kitchen,  keeping  them  company  all 
through  the  day.  Trina  dared  not  think  of  what 
would  be  their  fate  if  the  income  derived  from  Mc- 
Teague's  practice  was  suddenly  taken  from  them. 
Then  they  would  have  to  fall  back  on  the  interest 
of  her  lottery  money  and  the  pittance  she  derived 
from  the  manufacture  of  the  Noah's  ark  animals,  a 
little  over  thirty  dollars  a  month.  No,  no,  it  was 
not  to  be  thought  of.  It  could  not  be  that  their 
means  of  livelihood  was  to  be  thus  stricken  from 
them. 

A  fortnight  went  by.  "  I  guess  we're  all  right, 
Mac,"  Trina  allowed  herself  to  say.  "  It  looks  as 
though  we  were  all  right.  How  are  they  going  to 
tell  whether  you're  practising  or  not?  " 

That  day  a  second  and  much  more  peremptory 
notice  was  served  upon  McTeague  by  an  official  in 
person.  Then  suddenly  Trina  was  seized  with  a 
panic  terror,  unreasoned,  instinctive.  If  McTeague 
persisted  they  would  both  be  sent  to  a  prison,  she 
was  sure  of  it;  a  place  where  people  were  chained 
to  the  wall,  in  the  dark,  and  fed  on  bread  and  water. 

"  Oh,  Mac,  you've  got  to  quit,"  she  wailed. 
"  You  can't  go  on.  They  can  make  you  stop.  Oh, 
why  didn't  you  go  to  a  dental  college?  Why  didn't 
you  find  out  that  you  had  to  have  a  college  degree? 
And  now  we're  paupers,  beggars.  We've  got  to 
leave  here — leave  this  flat  where  I've  been — where 
we've  been  so  happy,  and  sell  all  the  pretty  things; 
266 


McTeague 

sell  the  pictures  and  the  melodeon,  and — Oh,  it's 
too  dreadful!" 

"  Huh?  Huh?  What?  What?  "  exclaimed  the 
dentist,  bewildered.  "  I  ain't  going  to  quit  for  just 
a  piece  of  paper.  Let  them  put  me  out.  I'll  show 
them.  They — they  can't  make  small  of  me." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  very  fine  to  talk  that  way,  but 
you'll  have  to  quit." 

"  Well,  we  ain't  paupers,"  McTeague  suddenly 
exclaimed,  an  idea  entering  his  mind.  "  We've  got 
our  money  yet.  You've  got  your  five  thousand 
dollars  and  the  money  you've  been  saving  up.  Peo 
ple  ain't  paupers  when  they've  got  over  five  thou 
sand  dollars." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mac?  "  cried  Trina,  appre 
hensively. 

"  Well,  we  can  live  on  that  money  until — until — 
until — "  he  broke  off  with  an  uncertain  movement 
of  his  shoulders,  looking  about  him  stupidly. 

"Until  when?"  cried  Trina.  "There  ain't  ever 
going  to  be  any  '  until.'  We've  got  the  interest  of 
that  five  thousand  and  we've  got  what  Uncle  Oel- 
bermann  gives  me,  a  little  over  thirty  dollars  a 
month,  and  that's  all  we've  got.  You'll  have  to 
find  something  else  to  do." 

"What  will  I  find  to  do?" 

What,  indeed?  McTeague  was  over  thirty  now, 
sluggish  and  slow-witted  at  best.  What  newr  trade 
could  he  learn  at  this  age? 

Little  by  little  Trina  made  the  dentist  understand 
the  calamity  that  had  befallen  them,  and  McTeague 
at  last  began  cancelling  his  appointments.  Trina 
gave  it  out  that  he  was  sick. 

267 


McTeague 

"  Not  a  soul  need  know  what's  happened  to  us," 
she  said  to  her  husband. 

But  it  was  only  by  slow  degrees  that  McTeague 
abandoned  his  profession.  Every  morning  after 
breakfast  he  would  go  into  his  "  Parlors  "  as  usual 
and  potter  about  his  instruments,  his  dental  engine, 
and  his  washstand  in  the  corner  behind  his  screen 
where  he  made  his  moulds.  Now  he  would  sharpen 
a  "  hoe  "  excavator,  now  he  would  busy  himself 
for  a  whole  hour  making  "  mats  "  and  "  cylinders." 
Then  he  would  look  over  his  slate  where  he  kept  a 
record  of  his  appointments. 

One  day  Trina  softly  opened  the  door  of  the 
"  Parlors  "  and  came  in  from  the  sitting-room.  She 
had  not  heard  McTeague  moving  about  for  some 
time  and  had  begun  to  wonder  what  he  was  doing. 
She  came  in,  quietly  shutting  the  door  behind  her. 

McTeague  had  tidied  the  room  with  the  greatest 
care.  The  volumes  of  the  "  Practical  Dentist  "  and 
the  "  American  System  of  Dentistry  "  were  piled 
upon  the  marble-top  centre-table  in  rectangular 
blocks.  The  few  chairs  were  drawn  up  against  the 
wall  under  the  steel  engraving  of  "  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici  "  with  more  than  usual  precision.  The  den 
tal  engine  and  the  nickelled  trimmings  of  the  oper 
ating  chair  had  been  furbished  till  they  slione,  while 
on  the  movable  rack  in  the  bay  window  McTeague 
had  arranged  his  instruments  with  the  greatest 
neatness  and  regularity.  "  Hoe  "  excavators,  plug- 
gers,  forceps,  pliers,  corundum  disks  and  burrs, 
even  the  boxwood  mallet  that  Trina  was  never  to 
use  again,  all  were  laid  out  arid  ready  for  immediate 
use. 

268 


McTeague 

McTeague  himself  sat  in  his  operating  chair, 
looking  stupidly  out  of  the  windows,  across  the 
roofs  opposite,  with  an  unseeing  gaze,  his  red 
hands  lying  idly  in  his  lap.  Trina  came  up  to  him. 
There  was  something  in  his  eyes  that  made  her  put 
both  arms  around  his  neck  and  lay  his  huge  head 
with  its  coarse  blond  hair  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  I — I  got  everything  fixed/'  he  said.  "  I  got 
everything  fixed  an'  ready.  See,  everything  ready 
an'  waiting,  an' — an' — an'  nobody  comes,  an'  no 
body's  ever  going  to  come  any  more.  Oh,  Trina!  " 
He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  drew  her  down  closer 
to  him. 

"  Never  mind,  dear;  never  mind,"  cried  Trina, 
through  her  tears.  "  It'll  all  come  right  in  the  end, 
and  we'll  be  poor  together  if  we  have  to.  You  can 
sure  find  something  else  to  do.  We'll  start  in 
again." 

"  Look  at  the  slate  there,"  said  McTeague,  pull 
ing  away  from  her  and  reaching  down  the  slate  on 
which  he  kept  a  record  of  his  appointments.  "  Look 
at  them.  There's  Vanovitch  at  two  on  Wednesday, 
and  Loughhead's  wife  Thursday  morning,  and 
Heise's  little  girl  Thursday  afternoon  at  one-thirty; 
Mrs.  Watson  on  Friday,  and  Vanovitch  again  Sat 
urday  morning  early — at  seven.  That's  what  I  was 
to  have  had,  and  they  ain't  going  to  come.  They 
ain't  ever  going  to  come  any  more." 

Trina  took  the  little  slate  from  him  and  looked  at 
it  ruefully. 

"  Rub  them  out,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling; 
"  rub  it  all  out;  "  and  as  she  spoke  her  eyes  brimmed 
again,  and  a  great  tear  dropped  on  the  slate. 
260 


McTeague 

"  That's  it,"  she  said;  "  that's  the  way  to  rub  it  out, 
by  me  crying  on  it."  Then  she  passed  her  fingers 
over  the  tear-blurred  writing  and  washed  the  slate 
clean.  "  All  gone,  all  gone,"  she  said. 

"  All  gone,"  echoed  the  dentist.  There  was  a 
silence.  Then  McTeague  heaved  himself  up  to  his 
full  six  feet  two,  his  face  purpling,  his  enormous 
mallet-like  fists  raised  over  his  head.  His  massive 
jaw  protruded  more  than  ever,  while  his  teeth 
clicked  and  grated  together;  then  he  growled: 

"  If  ever  I  meet  Marcus  Schouler — "  he  broke  off 
abruptly,  the  white  of  his  eyes  growing  suddenly 
pink. 

"  Oh,  if  ever  you  do"  exclaimed  Trina,  catching 
her  breath. 


270 


XIV. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think?  "  said  Trina. 

She  and  McTeague  stood  in  a  tiny  room  at  the 
back  of  the  flat  and  on  its  very  top  floor.  The  room 
was  whitewashed.  It  contained  a  bed,  three  cane- 
seated  chairs,  and  a  wooden  washstand  with  its 
washbowl  and  pitcher.  From  its  single  uncurtained 
window  one  looked  down  into  the  flat's  dirty  back 
yard  and  upon  the  roofs  of  the  hovels  that  bordered 
the  alley  in  the  rear.  There  was  a  rag  carpet  on  the 
floor.  In  place  of  a  closet  some  dozen  wooden  pegs 
were  affixed  to  the  wall  over  the  washstand.  There 
was  a  smell  of  cheap  soap  and  of  ancient  hair-oil  in 
the  air. 

"  That's  a  single  bed,"  said  Trina,  "  but  the  land 
lady  says  she'll  put  in  a  double  one  for  us.  You 

"  I  ain't  going  to  live  here,"  growled  McTeague. 

"  Well,  you've  got  to  live  somewhere,"  said  Trina, 
impatiently.  "  We've  looked  Polk  Street  over,  and 
this  is  the  only  thing  we  can  afford." 

"  Afford,  afford,"  muttered  the  dentist.  "  You 
with  your  five  thousand  dollars,  and  the  two  or  three 
hundred  you  got  saved  up,  talking  about  '  afford/ 
You  make  me  sick." 

"  Now,  Mac,"  exclaimed  Trina,  deliberately,  sit 
ting  down  in  one  of  the  cane-seated  chairs;  "  now, 

Mac,  let's  have  this  thing " 

271 


McTeague 

"  Well,  I  don't  figure  on  living  in  one  room," 
growled  the  dentist,  sullenly.  "  Let's  live  decently 
until  we  can  get  a  fresh  start.  We've  got  the 
money." 

"  Who's  got  the  money?  " 

"  We've  got  it." 

"We!" 

"Well,  it's  all  in  the  family.  What's  yours  is 
mine,  and  what's  mine  is  yours,  ain't  it?  " 

"  No,  it's  not;  no,  it's  not;  no,  it's  not,"  cried 
Trina,  vehemently.  "  It's  all  mine,  mine.  There's 
not  a  penny  of  it  belongs  to  anybody  else.  I  don't 
like  to  have  to  talk  this  way  to  you,  but  you  just 
make  me.  We're  not  going  to  touch  a  penny  of 
my  five  thousand  nor  a  penny  of  that  little  money  I 
managed  to  save — that  seventy-five." 

"  That  two  hundred,  you  mean." 

"  That  seventy-five.  We're  just  going  to  live  on 
the  interest  of  that  and  on  what  I  earn  from  Uncle 
Oelbermann — on  just  that  thirty-one  or  two  dol 
lars." 

"  Huh!  Think  I'm  going  to  do  that,  an'  live  in 
such  a  room  as  this?  " 

Trina  folded  her  arms  and  looked  him  squarely 
in  the  face. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do,  then?  " 

"Huh?" 

"  I  say,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  You  can  go 
on  and  find  something  to  do  and  earn  some  more 
money,  and  then  we'll  talk." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  live  here." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  suit  yourself.  I'm  going  to  live 
here." 

272 


McTeague 

"  You'll  live  where  I  tell  you,"  the  dentist  sud 
denly  cried,  exasperated  at  the  mincing  tone  she 
affected. 

"  Then  you'll  pay  the  rent/'  exclaimed  Trina,  quite 
as  angry  as  he. 

"  Are  you  my  boss,  I'd  like  to  know?  Who's  the 
boss,  you  or  I?  " 

"  Who's  got  the  money,  I'd  like  to  know?  "  cried 
Trina,  flushing  to  her  pale  lips.  "  Answer  me  that, 
McTeague,  who's  got  the  money?  " 

"  You  make  me  sick,  you  and  your  money.  Why, 
you're  a  miser.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  When 
I  was  practising,  I  never  thought  of  my  fees  as  my 
own;  we  lumped  everything  in  together." 

"  Exactly;  and  I'm  doing  the  working  now.  I'm 
working  for  Uncle  Oelbermann,  and  you're  not 
lumping  in  anything  now.  I'm  doing  it  all.  Do  you 
know  what  I'm  doing,  McTeague?  I'm  supporting 
you." 

"  Ah,  shut  up;  you  make  me  sick." 

"  You  got  no  right  to  talk  to  me  that  way.  I 
won't  let  you.  I — I  won't  have  it."  She  caught 
her  breath.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  live  where  you  like,  then,"  said  McTeague, 
sullenly. 

"  Well,  shall  we  take  this  room  then?  " 

"  All  right,  we'll  take  it.  But  why  can't  you  take 
a  little  of  your  money  an' — an' — sort  of  fix  it  up?  " 

"  Not  a  penny,  not  a  single  penny." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  what  you  do."  And  for  the 
rest  of  the  day  the  dentist  and  his  wife  did  not  speak. 

This  was  not  the  only  quarrel  they  had  during 
these  days  when  they  were  occupied  in  moving 
18  273 


McTeague 

from  their  suite  and  in  looking  for  new  quarters. 
Every  hour  the  question  of  money  came  up.  Trina 
had  become  more  niggardly  than  ever  since  the  loss 
of  McTeague's  practice.  It  was  not  mere  economy 
with  her  now.  It  was  a  panic  terror  lest  a  fraction 
of  a  cent  of  her  little  savings  should  be  touched;  a 
passionate  eagerness  to  continue  to  save  in  spite  of 
all  that  had  happened.  Trina  could  have  easily 
afforded  better  quarters  than  the  single  whitewashed 
room  at  the  top  of  the  flat,  but  she  made  McTeague 
believe  that  it  was  impossible. 

"  I  can  still  save  a  little,"  she  said  to  herself,  after 
the  room  had  been  engaged;  "perhaps  almost  as 
much  as  ever.  I'll  have  three  hundred  dollars  pretty 
soon,  and  Mac  thinks  it's  only  two  hundred.  It's 
almost  two  hundred  and  fifty;  and  I'll  get  a  good 
deal  out  of  the  sale." 

But  this  sale  was  a  long  agony.  It  lasted  a  week. 
Everything  went — everything  but  the  few  big  pieces 
that  went  with  the  suite,  and  that  belonged  to  the 
photographer.  The  melodeon,  the  chairs,  the  black 
walnut  table  before  which  they  were  married,  the 
extension  table  in  the  sitting-room,  the  kitchen 
table  with  its  oilcloth  cover,  the  framed  lithographs 
from  the  English  illustrated  papers,  the  very  carpets 
on  the  floors.  But  Trina's  heart  nearly  broke  when 
the  kitchen  utensils  and  furnishings  began  to  go. 
Every  pot,  every  stewpan,  every  knife  and  fork,  was 
an  old  friend.  How  she  had  worked  over  them! 
How  clean  she  had  kept  them!  What  a  pleasure  it 
had  been  to  invade  that  little  brick-paved  kitchen 
every  morning,  and  to  wash  up  and  put  to  rights 
after  breakfast,  turning  on  the  hot  water  at  the 
274 


McTeague 

sink,  raking  down  the  ashes  in  the  cook-stove,  going 
and  coming  over  the  warm  bricks,  her  head  in  the 
air,  singing  at  her  work,  proud  in  the  sense  of  her 
proprietorship  and  her  independence!  How  happy 
had  she  been  the  day  after  her  marriage  when  she 
had  first  entered  that  kitchen  and  knew  that  it  was 
all  her  own!  And  how  well  she  remembered  her 
raids  upon  the  bargain  counters  in  the  house- 
furnishing  departments  of  the  great  down-town 
stores!  And  now  it  was  all  to  go.  Sonic  one  else 
would  have  it  all,  while  she  was  relegated  to  cheap 
restaurants  and  meals  cooked  by  hired  servants. 
Night  after  night  she  sobbed  herself  to  s1  :ep  at  the 
thought  of  her  past  happiness  a?.d  r  present 
wretchedness.  However,  she  was  not  alone  in  her 
unhappiness. 

"  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to  keep  the  steel  engraving 
an'  the  stone  pug  dog,"  declared  the  dentist,  his 
fist  clenching.  When  it  had  come  to  the  sale  of  his 
office  effects  McTeague  had  rebelled  with  the  in 
stinctive  obstinacy  of  a  boy,  shutting  his  eyes  and 
ears.  Only  little  by  little  did  Trina  induce  him  to 
part  with  his  office  furniture.  He  fought  over  every 
article,  over  the  little  iron  stove,  the  bed-lounge, 
the  marble-topped  centre  table,  the  whatnot  in  the 
corner,  the  bound  volumes  of  "  Allen's  Practical 
Dentist,"  the  rifle  manufacturers  calendar,  and  the 
prim,  military  chairs.  A  veritable  scene  took  place 
between  him  and  his  wife  before  he  could  bring  him 
self  to  part  with  the  steel  engraving  of  "  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici  and  His  Court  "  and  the  stone  pug  dog  with 
its  goggle  eyes. 

"  Why,"  he  would  cry,  "  I've  had  'em  ever  since — • 


McTeague 

*ver  since  I  began;  long  before  I  knew  you,  Trina. 
That  steel  engraving  I  bought  in  Sacramento  one 
d&y  when  it  was  raining.  I  saw  it  in  the  window  of 
a  second-hand  store,  and  a  fellow  gave  me  that  stone 
pug  dog.  He  was  a  druggist.  It  was  in  Sacra 
mento  too.  We  traded.  I  gave  him  a  shaving- 
mug  anO  a  razor,  and  he  gave  me  the  pug  dog." 

There  were,  however,  two  of  his  belongings  that 
even  TrinA.  could  not  induce  him  to  part  with. 

"  And  your  concertina,  Mac,"  she  prompted,  as 
they  were  making  out  the  list  for  the  second-hand 
dealer.  "  The  concertina,  and — oh,  yes,  the  canary 
and  the  bird  cage." 

"  No." 

"  Mac,  you  must  be  reasonable.  The  concertina 
would  bring  quite  a  sum,  and  the  bird  cage  is  as 
good  as  new.  Ill  sell  the  canary  to  the  bird-store 
man  on  Kearney  Street." 

"  No." 

"  If  you're  going  to  make  objections  to  every 
single  thing,  we  might  as  well  quit.  Come,  now, 
Mac,  the  concertina  and  the  bird  cage.  We'll  put 
them  in  Lot  D." 

"  No." 

"  You'll  have  to  come  to  it  sooner  or  later.  I'm 
giving  up  everything.  I'm  going  to  put  them  down, 
see." 

"  No." 

And  she  could  get  no  further  than  that.  The 
dentist  did  not  lose  his  temper,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  steel  engraving  or  the  stone  pug  dog;  he  simply 
opposed  her  entreaties  and  persuasions  with  a  pas 
sive,  inert  obstinacy  that  nothing  could  move.  In 
276 


McTeague 

the  end  Trina  was  obliged  to  submit.  McTeague 
kept  his  concertina  and  his  canary,  even  going  so  far 
as  to  put  them  both  away  in  the  bedroom,  attaching 
to  them  tags  on  which  he  had  scrawled  in  immense 
round  letters,  "  Not  for  Sale." 

One  evening  during  that  same  week  the  dentist 
and  his  wife  were  in  the  dismantled  sitting-room. 
The  room  presented  the  appearance  of  a  wreck.  The 
Nottingham  lace  curtains  were  down.  The  exten 
sion  table  was  heaped  high  with  dishes,  with  tea  and 
coffee  pots,  and  with  baskets  of  spoons  and  knives 
and  forks.  The  melodeon  was  hauled  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  covered  with  a  sheet  marked 
"  Lot  A,"  the  pictures  were  in  a  pile  in  a  corner, 
the  chenille  portieres  were  folded  on  top  of  the  black 
walnut  table.  The  room  was  desolate,  lamentable. 
Trina  was  going  over  the  inventory;  McTeague,  in 
his  shirt  sleeves,  was  smoking  his  pipe,  looking 
stupidly  out  of  the  window.  All  at  once  there  was  a 
brisk  rapping  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  called  Trina,  apprehensively.  Now- 
a-days  at  every  unexpected  visit  she  anticipated  a 
fresh  calamity.  The  door  opened  to  let  in  a  young 
man  wearing  a  checked  suit,  a  gay  cravat,  and  a 
marvellously  figured  waistcoat.  Trina  and  Mc 
Teague  recognized  him  at  once.  It  was  the  Other 
Dentist,  the  debonair  fellow  whose  clients  were 
the  barbers  and  the  young  women  of  the  candy 
stores  and  soda-water  fountains,  the  poser,  the 
wearer  of  waistcoats,  who  bet  money  on  greyhound 
races. 

"  How'do?"  said  this  one,  bowing  gracefully  to 
the  McTeagues  as  they  stared  at  him  distrustfully. 
277 


McTeague 

"  How'do?  They  tell  me,  Doctor,  that  you  are 
going  out  of  the  profession." 

McTeague  muttered  indistinctly  behind  his  mus 
tache  and  glowered  at  him. 

"  Well,  say,"  continued  the  other,  cheerily,  "  I'd 
like  to  talk  business  with  you.  That  sign  of  yours, 
that  big  golden  tooth  that  you  got  outside  of  your 
window,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  have  any  further  use 
for  it.  Maybe  I'd  buy  it  if  we  could  agree  on  terms." 

Trina  shot  a  glance  at  her  husband.  McTeague 
began  to  glower  again. 

"  What  do  you  say?  "  said  the  Other  Dentist. 

"  I  guess  not,"  growled  McTeague. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  ten  dollars?  " 

"  Ten  dollars!  "  cried  Trina,  her  chin  in  the  air. 

"  Well,  what  figure  do  you  put  on  it?  " 

Trina  was  about  to  answer  when  she  was  inter 
rupted  by  McTeague. 

"  You  go  out  of  here." 

"Hey?     What?" 

"  You  go  out  of  here." 

The  other  retreated  toward  the  door. 

"  You  can't  make  small  of  me.     Go  out  of  here." 

McTeague  came  forward  a  step,  his  great  red  fist 
clenching.  The  young  man  fled.  But  half  way 
down  the  stairs  he  paused  long  enough  to  call  back: 

"  You  don't  want  to  trade  anything  for  a  diploma, 
do  you?" 

McTeague  and  his  wife  exchanged  looks. 

"  How  did  he  know?  "  exclaimed  Trina,  sharply. 
They  had  invented  and  spread  the  fiction  that  Mc 
Teague  was  merely  retiring  from  business,  without 
assigning  any  reason.  But  evidently  every  one  knew 
278 


McTeague 

the  real  cause.  The  humiliation  was  complete  now. 
Old  Miss  Baker  confirmed  their  suspicions  on  this 
point  the  next  day.  The  little  retired  dressmaker 
came  down  and  wept  with  Trina  over  her  misfor 
tune,  and  did  what  she  could  to  encourage  her.  But 
she  too  knew  that  McTeague  had  been  forbidden 
by  the  authorities  from  practising.  Marcus  had 
evidently  left  them  no  loophole  of  escape. 

"  It's  just  like  cutting  off  your  husband's  hands, 
my  dear/'  said  Miss  Baker.  "  And  you  t\vo  were 
so  happy.  When  I  first  saw  you  together  I  said, 
'What  a  pair!'" 

Old  Grannis  also  called  during  this  period  of  the 
breaking  up  of  the  McTeague  household. 

"  Dreadful,  dreadful,"  murmured  the  old  English 
man,  his  hand  going  tremulously  to  his  chin.  "  It 
seems  unjust;  it  does.  But  Mr.  Schouler  could  not 
have  set  them  on  to  do  it.  I  can't  quite  believe  it 
of  him." 

"  Of  Marcus!  "  cried  Trina.  "  Hoh!  Why,  he 
threw  his  knife  at  Mac  one  time,  and  another  time  he 
bit  him,  actually  bit  him  with  his  teeth,  while  they 
were  wrestling  just  for  fun.  Marcus  would  do  any 
thing  to  injure  Mac." 

"  Dear,  dear,"  returned  Old  Grannis,  genuinely 
pained.  "  I  had  always  believed  Schouler  to  be 
such  a  good  fellow." 

"  That's  because  you're  so  good  yourself,  Mr. 
Grannis,"  responded  Trina. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Doc,"  declared  Heise  the  har 
ness-maker,  shaking  his  finger  impressively  at 
the  dentist,  "you  must  fight  it;  you  must  appeal 
to  the  courts;  you've  been  practising  too  long  to 
279 


McTeague 

be  debarred  now.  The  statute  of  limitations,  you 
know." 

"  No,  no,"  Trina  had  exclaimed,  when  the  den 
tist  had  repeated  this  advice  to  her.  "  No,  no,  don't 
go  near  the  law  courts.  /  know  them.  The  lawyers 
take  all  your  money,  and  you  lose  your  case.  We're 
bad  off  as  it  is,  without  lawing  about  it." 

Then  at  last  came  the  sale.  McTeague  and  Trina, 
whom  Miss  Baker  had  invited  to  her  room  for  that 
day,  sat  there  side  by  side,  holding  each  other's 
hands,  listening  nervously  to  the  turmoil  that  rose 
to  them  from  the  direction  of  their  suite.  From 
nine  o'clock  till  dark  the  crowds  came  and  went. 
All  Polk  Street  seemed  to  have  invaded  the  suite, 
lured  on  by  the  red  flag  that  waved  from  the  front 
windows.  It  was  a/<?/^,  a  veritable  holiday,  for  the 
whole  neighborhood.  People  with  no  thought  of 
buying  presented  themselves.  Young  women — the 
candy-store  girls  and  florist's  apprentices — came  to 
see  the  fun,  walking  arm  in  arm  from  room  to 
room,  making  jokes  about  the  pretty  lithographs 
and  mimicking  the  picture  of  the  two  little  girls 
saying  their  prayers. 

"  Look  here,"  they  would  cry,  "  look  here  what 
she  used  for  curtains — Nottingham  lace,  actually! 
Whoever  thinks  of  buying  Nottingham  lace  now-a- 
days?  Say,  don't  that  jar  you?" 

"  And  a  melodeon,"  another  one  would  exclaim, 
lifting  the  sheet.  "  A  melodeon,  when  you  can  rent 
a  piano  for  a  dollar  a  week;  and  say,  I  really  believe 
they  used  to  eat  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Dollarn-half,  dollarn-half,  dollarn-half,  give  me 
two,"  intoned  the  auctioneer  from  the  second-hand 
280 


McTeague 

store.  By  noon  the  crowd  became  a  jam.  Wagons 
backed  up  to  the  curb  outside  and  departed  heavily 
laden.  In  all  directions  people  could  be  seen  going 
away  from  the  house,  carrying  small  articles  of 
furniture — a  clock,  a  water  pitcher,  a  towel  rack. 
Every  now  and  then  old  Miss  Baker,  who  had  gone 
below  to  see  how  things  were  progressing,  returned 
with  reports  of  the  foray. 

"  Mrs.  Heise  bought  the  chenille  portieres.  Mis 
ter  Ryer  made  a  bid  for  your  bed,  but  a  man  in  a 
gray  coat  bid  over  him.  It  was  knocked  down  for 
three  dollars  and  a  half.  The  German  shoemaker 
on  the  next  block  bought  the  stone  pug  dog.  I  saw 
our  postman  going  away  with  a  lot  of  the  pictures. 
Zerkow  has  come,  on  my  word!  the  rags-bottles- 
sacks  man;  he's  buying  lots;  he  bought  all  Doctor 
McTeague's  gold  tape  and  some  of  the  instruments. 
Maria's  there  too.  That  dentist  on  the  corner  took 
the  dental  engine,  and  wanted  to  get  the  sign,  the 
big  gold  tooth,"  and  so  on  and  so  on.  Crudest 
of  all,  however,  at  least  to  Trina,  was  when  Miss 
Baker  herself  began  to  buy,  unable  to  resist  a  bar 
gain.  The  last  time  she  came  up  she  carried  a 
bundle  of  the  gay  tidies  that  used  to  hang  over  the 
chair  backs. 

"  He  offered  them,  three  for  a  nickel,"  she  ex 
plained  to  Trina,  "  and  I  thought  I'd  spend  just  a 
quarter.  You  don't  mind,  now,  do  you,  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague?  " 

"  Why,  no,  of  course  not,  Miss  Baker,"  answered 
Trina,  bravely. 

"  They'll  look  very  pretty  on  some  of  my  chairs," 
went  on  the  little  old  dressmaker,  innocently. 
281 


McTeague 

"  See,"  She  spread  one  of  them  on  a  chair  back  for 
inspection.  Trina's  chin  quivered. 

"  Oh,  very  pretty,"  she  answered. 

At  length  that  dreadful  day  was  over.  The  crowd 
dispersed.  Even  the  auctioneer  went  at  last,  and 
as  he  closed  the  door  with  a  bang,  the  reverberation 
that  went  through  the  suite  gave  evidence  of  its 
emptiness. 

"  Come,"  said  Trina  to  the  dentist,  "  let's  go  down 
and  look — take  a  last  look." 

They  went  out  of  Miss  Baker's  room  and  de 
scended  to  the  floor  below.  On  the  stairs,  how 
ever,  they  were  met  by  Old  Grannis.  In  his  hands 
he  carried  a  little  package.  Was  it  possible  that  he 
too  had  taken  advantage  of  their  misfortunes  to 
join  in  the  raid  upon  the  suite? 

"  I  went  in,"  he  began,  timidly,  "  for — for  a  few 
moments.  This  " — he  indicated  the  little  package 
he  carried — "  this  was  put  up.  It  was  of  no  value 
but  to  you.  I — I  ventured  to  bid  it  in.  I  thought 
perhaps  " — his  hand  went  to  his  chin,  "  that  you 
wouldn't  mind ;  that — in  fact,  I  bought  it  for  you — 
as  a  present.  Will  you  take  it?  "  He  handed  the 
package  to  Trina  and  hurried  on.  Trina  tore  off 
the  wrappings. 

It  was  the  framed  photograph  of  McTeague  and 
his  wife  in  their  wedding  finery,  the  one  that  had 
been  taken  immediately  after  the  marriage.  It 
represented  Trina  sitting  very  erect  in  a  rep  arm 
chair,  holding  her  wedding  bouquet  straight  before 
her,  McTeague  standing  at  her  side,  his  left  foot 
forward,  one  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  and  the  other 
thrust  into  the  breast  of  his  "  Prince  Albert "  coat, 
282 


McTeague 

in  the  attitude  of  a  statue  of  a  Secretary  of 
State. 

"  Oh,  it  was  good  of  him,  it  was  good  of  him," 
cried  Trina,  her  eyes  filling  again.  "  I  had  forgotten 
to  put  it  away.  Of  course  it  was  not  for  sale." 

They  went  on  down  the  stairs,  and  arriving  at 
the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  opened  it  and  looked 
in.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  there  was  just 
light  enough  for  the  dentist  and  his  wife  to  see  the 
results  of  that  day  of  sale.  Nothing  was  left,  not 
even  the  carpet.  It  was  a  pillage,  a  devastation,  the 
barrenness  of  a  field  after  the  passage  of  a  swarm  of 
locusts.  The  room  had  been  picked  and  stripped 
till  only  the  bare  walls  and  floor  remained.  Here 
where  they  had  been  married,  where  the  wedding 
supper  had  taken  place,  where  Trina  had  bade  fare 
well  to  her  father  and  mother,  here  where  she  had 
spent  those  first  few  hard  months  of  her  married 
life,  where  afterward  she  had  grown  to  be  happy 
and  contented,  where  she  had  passed  the  long 
hours  of  the  afternoon  at  her  work  of  whittling,  and 
where  she  and  her  husband  had  spent  so  many 
evenings  looking  out  of  the  window  before,  the 
lamp  was  lit — here  in  what  had  been  her  home,  noth 
ing  was  left  but  echoes  and  the  emptiness  of  com 
plete  desolation.  Only  one  thing  remained.  On 
the  wall  between  the  windows,  in  its  oval  glass 
frame,  preserved  by  some  unknown  and  fearful  pro 
cess,  a  melancholy  relic  of  a  vanished  happiness,  un 
sold,  neglected,  and  forgotten,  a  thing  that  nobody 
wanted,  hung  Trina's  wedding  bouquet. 


283 


XV. 


Then  the  grind  began.  It  would  have  been 
easier  for  the  McTeagues  to  have  faced  their  mis 
fortunes  had  they  befallen  them  immediately  after 
their  marriage,  when  their  love  for  each  other  was 
fresh  and  fine,  and  when  they  could  have  found  a 
certain  happiness  in  helping  each  other  and  sharing 
each  other's  privations.  Trina,  no  doubt,  loved  her 
husband  more  than  ever,  in  the  sense  that  she  felt 
she  belonged  to  him.  But  McTeague's  affection 
for  his  wife  was  dwindling  a  little  every  day — had 
been  dwindling  for  a  long  time,  in  fact.  He  had  be 
come  used  to  her  by  now.  She  was  part  of  the 
order  of  the  things  with  which  he  found  himself 
surrounded.  He  saw  nothing  extraordinary  about 
her;  it  was  no  longer  a  pleasure  for  him  to  kiss  her 
and  take  her  in  his  arms;  she  was  merely  his  wife. 
He  did  not  dislike  her;  he  did  not  love  her.  She 
was  his  wife,  that  was  all.  But  he  sadly  missed  and 
regretted  all  those  little  animal  comforts  which  in 
the  old  prosperous  life  Trina  had  managed  to  find 
for  him.  He  missed  the  cabbage  soups  and  steam 
ing  chocolate  that  Trina  had  taught  him  to  like;  he 
missed  his  good  tobacco  that  Trina  had  educated 
him  to  prefer;  he  missed  the  Sunday  afternoon 
walks  that  she  had  caused  him  to  substitute  in  place 
of  his  nap  in  the  operating  chair;  and  he  missed  the 
bottled  beer  that  she  had  induced  him  to  drink  in 
284 


McTeague 

place  of  the  steam  beer  from  Frenna's.  In  the  end 
he  grew  morose  and  sulky,  and  sometimes  neglected 
to  answer  his  wife  when  she  spoke  to  him.  Besides 
this,  Trina's  avarice  was  a  perpetual  annoyance  to 
him.  Oftentimes  when  a  considerable  alleviation 
of  this  unhappiness  could  have  been  obtained  at  the 
expense  of  a  nickel  or  a  dime,  Trina  refused  the 
money  with  a  pettishness  that  was  exasperating. 

"  No,  no,"  she  would  exclaim.  "  To  ride  to  the 
park  Sunday  afternoon,  that  means  ten  cents,  and  I 
can't  afford  it." 

"  Let's  walk  there,  then." 

"  I've  got  to  work." 

"  But  you've  worked  morning  and  afternoon 
every  day  this  week." 

"  I  don't  care,  I've  got  to  work." 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Trina  had  hated  the 
idea  of  McTeague  drinking  steam  beer  as  common 
and  vulgar. 

"  Say,  let's  have  a  bottle  of  beer  to-night.  We 
haven't  had  a  drop  of  beer  in  three  weeks." 

"  We  can't  afford  it.     It's  fifteen  cents  a  bottle." 

"  But  I  haven't  had  a  swallow  of  beer  in  three 
weeks." 

"  Drink  steam  beer,  then.  You've  got  a  nickel. 
I  gave  you  a  quarter  day  before  yesterday." 

"  But  I  don't  like  steam  beer  now." 

It  was  so  with  everything.  Unfortunately,  Trina 
had  cultivated  tastes  in  McTeague  which  now  could 
not  be  gratified.  He  had  come  to  be  very  proud 
of  his  silk  hat  and  "  Prince  Albert  "  coat,  and  liked 
to  wear  them  on  Sundays.  Trina  had  made  him 
sell  both.  He  preferred  "  Yale  mixture  "  in  his 
285 


McTeague 

pipe;  Trina  had  made  him  come  down  to  "  Mastiff," 
a  five-cent  tobacco  with  which  he  was  once  con 
tented,  but  now  abhorred.  He  liked  to  wear  clean 
cuffs;  Trina  allowed  him  a  fresh  pair  on  Sundays 
only.  At  first  these  deprivations  angered  Mc 
Teague.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  slipped  back 
into  the  old  habits  (that  had  been  his  before  he 
knew  Trina)  with  an  ease  that  was  surprising.  Sun 
days  he  dined  at  the  car  conductors'  coffee-joint 
once  more,  and  spent  the  afternoon  lying  full  length 
upon  the  bed,  crop-full,  stupid,  warm,  smoking  his 
huge  pipe,  drinking  his  steam  beer,  and  playing  his 
six  mournful  tunes  upon  his  concertina,  dozing  off 
to  sleep  towards  four  o'clock. 

The  sale  of  their  furniture  had,  after  paying  the 
rent  and  outstanding  bills,  netted  about  a  hundred 
and  thirty  dollars.  Trina  believed  that  the  auc 
tioneer  from  the  second-hand  store  had  swindled 
and  cheated  them  and  had  made  a  great  outcry  to 
no  effect.  But  she  had  arranged  the  affair  with  the 
auctioneer  herself,  and  offset  her  disappointment  in 
the  matter  of  the  sale  by  deceiving  her  husband  as 
to  the  real  amount  of  the  returns.  It  was  easy  to 
lie  to  McTeague,  who  took  everything  for  granted; 
and  since  the  occasion  of  her  trickery  with  the 
money  that  was  to  have  been  sent  to  her  mother, 
Trina  had  found  falsehood  easier  than  ever. 

"  Seventy  dollars  is  all  the  auctioneer  gave  me," 
she  told  her  husband;  "  and  after  paying  the  balance 
due  on  the  rent,  and  the  grocer's  bill,  there's  only- 
fifty  left." 

"Only  fifty?"  murmured   McTeague,  wagging 
his  head,  "  only  fifty?     Think  of  that." 
286 


McTeague 

"  Only  fifty,"  declared  Trina.  Afterwards  she 
said  to  herself  with  a  certain  admiration  for  her 
cleverness: 

"  Couldn't  save  sixty  dollars  much  easier  than 
that,"  and  she  had  added  the  hundred  and  thirty 
to  the  little  hoard  in  the  chamois-skin  bag  and  brass 
match-box  in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk. 

In  these  first  months  of  their  misfortunes  the 
routine  of  the  McTeagues  was  as  follows:  They 
rose  at  seven  and  breakfasted  in  their  room,  Trina 
cooking  the  very  meagre  meal  on  an  oil  stove.  Im 
mediately  after  breakfast  Trina  sat  down  to  her 
work  of  whittling  the  Noah's  ark  animals,  and  Mc 
Teague  took  himself  off  to  walk  down  town.  He 
had  by  the  greatest  good  luck  secured  a  position 
with  a  manufacturer  of  surgical  instruments,  where 
his  manual  dexterity  in  the  making  of  excavators, 
pluggers,  and  other  dental  contrivances  stood  him 
in  fairly  good  stead.  He  lunched  at  a  sailors 
boarding-house  near  the  water  front,  and  in  the 
afternoon  worked  till  six.  He  was  home  at  six- 
thirty,  and  he  and  Trina  had  supper  together  in 
the  "  ladies'  dining  parlor,"  an  adjunct  of  the  car 
conductors'  coffee-joint.  Trina,  meanwhile,  had 
worked  at  her  whittling  all  day  long,  with  but  half 
an  hour's  interval  for  lunch,  which  she  herself  pre 
pared  upon  the  oil  stove.  In  the  evening  they  were 
both  so  tired  that  they  were  in  no  mood  for  con 
versation,  and  went  to  bed  early,  worn  out,  harried, 
nervous,  and  cross. 

Trina  was  not  quite  so  scrupulously  tidy  now  as 
in  the  old  days.  At  one  time  while  whittling  the 
Noah's  ark  animals  she  had  worn  gloves.  She 
287 


McTeague 

never  wore  them  now.  She  still  took  pride  in 
neatly  combing  and  coiling  her  wonderful  black 
hair,  but  as  the  days  passed  she  found  it  more  and 
more  comfortable  to  work  in  her  blue  flannel 
wrapper.  Whittlings  and  chips  accumulated  under 
the  window  where  she  did  her  work,  and  she  was  at 
no  great  pains  to  clear  the  air  of  the  room  vitiated 
by  the  fumes  of  the  oil  stove  and  heavy  with  the 
smell  of  cooking.  It  was  not  gay,  that  life.  The 
room  itself  was  not  gay.  The  huge  double  bed 
sprawled  over  nearly  a  fourth  of  the  available  space; 
the  angles  of  Trina's  trunk  and  the  washstand  pro 
jected  into  the  room  from  the  walls,  and  barked 
shins  and  scraped  elbows.  Streaks  and  spots  of  the 
"  non-poisonous  "  paint  that  Trina  used  were  upon 
the  walls  and  woodwork.  However,  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  next  the  window,  monstrous,  distorted, 
brilliant,  shining  with  a  light  of  its  own,  stood  the 
dentist's  sign,  the  enormous  golden  tooth,  the 
tooth  of  a  Brobdingnag. 

One  afternoon  in  September,  about  four  months 
after  the  McTeagues  had  left  their  suite,  Trina  was 
at  her  work  by  the  window.  She  had  whittled  some 
half-dozen  sets  of  animals,  and  was  now  busy  paint 
ing  them  and  making  the  arks.  Little  pots  of  "  non- 
poisonous  "  paint  stood  at  her  elbow  on  the  table, 
together  with  a  box  of  labels  that  read,  "  Made  in 
France."  Her  huge  clasp-knife  was  stuck  into  the 
under  side  of  the  table.  She  was  now  occupied 
solely  with  the  brushes  and  the  glue  pot.  She  turned 
the  little  figures  in  her  ringers  with  a  wonderful 
lightness  and  deftness,  painting  the  chickens  Naples 
yellow,  the  elephants  blue  gray,  the  horses  Van- 


McTeague 

dyke  brown,  adding  a  dot  of  Chinese  white  for  the 
eyes  and  sticking  in  the  ears  and  tail  with  a  drop 
of  glue.  The  animals  once  done,  she  put  together 
and  painted  the  arks,  some  dozen  of  them,  all  win 
dows  and  no  doors,  each  one  opening  only  by  a 
lid  which  was  half  the  roof.  She  had  all  the  work 
she  could  handle  these  days,  for,  from  this  time  till 
a  week  before  Christmas,  Uncle  Oelbermann  could 
take  as  many  "  Noah's  ark  sets  "  as  she  could  make. 

Suddenly  Trina  paused  in  her  work,  looking  ex 
pectantly  toward  the  door.  McTeague  came  in. 

"  Why,  Mac/'  exclaimed  Trina.  "  It's  only  three 
o'clock.  What  are  you  home  so  early  for?  Have 
they  discharged  you?  " 

"  They've  fired  me,"  said  McTeague,  sitting 
down  on  the  bed. 

"Fired  you!     What  for?" 

"  I  don'  know.  Said  the  times  were  getting  hard 
an'  they  had  to  let  me  go." 

Trina  let  her  paint-stained  hands  fall  into  her  lap. 

"  Oh! "  she  cried.  "  If  we  don't  have  the  hardest 
luck  of  any  two  people  I  ever  heard  of.  What  can 
you  do  now?  Is  there  another  place  like  that  where 
they  make  surgical  instruments?  " 

"  Huh?    No,    I  don'  know.   There's  three  more." 

"  Well,  you  must  try  them  right  away.  Go  down 
there  right  now." 

"  Huh?  Right  now?  No,  I'm  tired.  I'll  go 
down  in  the  morning." 

"  Mac,"  cried  Trina,  in  alarm,  "  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  You  talk  as  though  we  were  million 
aires.  You  must  go  down  this  minute.  You're 
losing  money  every  second  you  sit  there."  She 
19  289 


McTeague 

goaded  the  huge  fellow  to  his  feet  again,  thrust  his 
hat  into  his  hands,  and  pushed  him  out  of  the  door, 
he  obeying  the  while,  docile  and  obedient  as  a 
big  cart  horse.  He  was  on  the  stairs  when  she 
came  running  after  him. 

"  Mac,  they  paid  you  off,  didn't  they,  when  they 
discharged  you?  " 

"  Yes." 

'  Then  you  must  have  some  money.  Give  it  to 
me." 

The  dentist  heaved  a  shoulder  uneasily. 

"  No,  I  don'  want  to." 

"  I've  got  to  have  that  money.  There's  no  more 
oil  for  the  stove,  and  I  must  buy  some  more  meal 
tickets  to-night." 

"  Always  after  me  about  money,"  muttered  the 
dentist;  but  he  emptied  his  pockets  for  her,  never 
theless. 

"  I— you've  taken  it  all,"  he  grumbled.  "  Better 
leave  me  something  for  car  fare.  It's  going  to  rain." 

"  Pshaw!  You  can  walk  just  as  well  as  not.  A 
big  fellow  like  you  'fraid  of  a  little  walk;  and  it  ain't 
going  to  rain." 

Trina  had  lied  again  both  as  to  the  want  of  oil 
for  the  stove  and  the  commutation  ticket  for  the 
restaurant.  But  she  knew  by  instinct  that  Mc 
Teague  had  money  about  him,  and  she  did  not  in 
tend  to  let  it  go  out  of  the  house.  She  listened  in 
tently  until  she  was  sure  McTeague  was  gone. 
Then  she  hurriedly  opened  her  trunk  and  hid  the 
money  in  the  chamois  bag  at  the  bottom. 

The  dentist  presented  himself  at  every  one  of  the 
makers  of  surgical  instruments  that  afternoon  and 
290 


McTeague 

was  promptly  turned  away  in  each  case.  Then  it 
came  on  to  rain,  a  fine,  cold  drizzle,  that  chilled  him. 
and  wet  him  to  the  bone.  He  had  no  umbrella, 
and  Trina  had  not  left  him  even  five  cents  for  car 
fare.  He  started  to  walk  home  through  the  rain. 
It  was  a  long  way  to  Polk  Street,  as  the  last  manu 
factory  he  had  visited  was  beyond  even  Folsom 
Street,  and  not  far  from  the  city  front. 

By  the  time  McTeague  reached  Polk  Street  his 
teeth  were  chattering  with  the  cold.  He  was  wet 
from  head  to  foot.  As  he  was  passing  Heise's 
harness  shop  a  sudden  deluge  of  rain  overtook  him 
and  he  was  obliged  to  dodge  into  the  vestibule  for 
shelter.  He,  who  loved  to  be  warm,  to  sleep  and  to 
be  well  fed,  was  icy  cold,  was  exhausted  and  foot 
sore  from  tramping  the  city.  He  could  look  for 
ward  to  nothing  better  than  a  badly-cooked  supper 
at  the  coffee-joint — hot  meat  on  a  cold  plate,  half 
(i  "ne  suet  pudding,  muddy  coffee,  and  bad  bread, 
and  he  was  cold,  miserably  cold,  and  \vet  to  the 
bone.  All  at  once  a  sudden  rage  against  Trina  took 
possession  of  him.  It  was  her  fault.  She  knew  it 
was  going  to  rain,  and  she  had  not  let  him  have  a 
nickel  for  car  fare — she  who  had  five  thousand 
dollars.  She  let  him  walk  the  streets  in  the  cold  and 
in  the  rain.  "  Miser,"  he  growled  behind  his  mus 
tache.  "  Miser,  nasty  little  old  miser.  You're 
worse  than  old  Zerkow,  always  nagging  about 
money,  money,  and  you  got  five  thousand  dollars. 
You  got  more,  an'  you  live  in  that  stinking  hole  of  a 
room,  and  you  won't  drink  any  decent  beer.  I  ain't 
going  to  stand  it  much  longer.  She  knew  it  was 
going  to  rain.  She  knew  it.  Didn't  I  tell  her? 
291 


McTeague 

And  she  drives  me  out  of  my  own  home  in  the  rain, 
for  me  to  get  money  for  her;  more  money,  and  she 
takes  it.  She  took  that  money  from  me  that  I 
earned.  Twasn't  hers;  it  was  mine,  I  earned  it — 
and  not  a  nickel  for  car  fare.  She  don't  care  if  I 
get  wet  and  get  a  cold  and  die.  No,  she  don't,  as 
long  as  she's  warm  and's  got  her  money."  He  be 
came  more  and  more  indignant  at  the  picture  he 
made  of  himself.  "  I  ain't  going  to  stand  it  much 
longer,"  he  repeated. 

"Why,  hello,  Doc.  Is  that  you?"  exclaimed 
Heise,  opening  the  door  of  the  harness  shop  behind 
him.  "  Come  in  out  of  the  wet.  Why,  you're 
soaked  through,"  he  added  as  he  and  McTeague 
came  back  into  the  shop,  that  reeked  of  oiled  leather. 
"  Didn't  you  have  any  umbrella?  Ought  to  have 
taken  a  car." 

"  I  guess  so — I  guess  so,"  murmured  the  dentist, 
confused.  His  teeth  were  chattering. 

"  You're  going  to  catch  your  death-a-cold,"  ex 
claimed  Heise.  "  Tell  you  what,"  he  said,  reach 
ing  for  his  hat,  "  come  in  next  door  to  Frenna's  and 
have  something  to  warm  you  up.  I'll  get  the  old 
lady  to  mind  the  shop."  He  called  Mrs.  Heise 
down  from  the  floor  above  and  took  McTeague  into 
Joe  Frenna's  saloon,  which  was  two  doors  above 
his  harness  shop. 

"  Whiskey  and  gum  twice,  Joe,"  said  he  to  the 
barkeeper  as  he  and  the  dentist  approached  the  bar. 

"  Huh?  What?  "  said  McTeague.  "  Whiskey? 
No,  I  can't  drink  whiskey.  It  kind  of  disagrees 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  the  hell!  "  returned  Heise,  easily.     "  Take 
292 


McTeague 

it  as  medicine.  You'll  get  your  death-a-cold  if  you 
stand  round  soaked  like  that.  Two  whiskey  and 
gum,  Joe." 

McTeague  emptied  the  pony  glass  at  a  single 
enormous  gulp. 

"  That's  the  way,"  said  Heise,  approvingly.  "  Do 
you  good."  He  drank  his  off  slowly. 

"  I'd — I'd  ask  you  to  have  a  drink  with  me, 
Heise,"  said  the  dentist,  who  had  an  indistinct  idea 
of  the  amenities  of  the  barroom,  "  only,"  he  added 
shamefacedly,  "  only — you  see,  I  don't  believe  I  got 
any  change."  His  anger  against  Trina,  heated  fey 
the  whiskey  he  had  drank,  flamed  up  afresh.  What 
a  humiliating  position  for  Trina  to  place  him  in, 
not  to  leave  him  the  price  of  a  drink  with  a  friend, 
she  who  had  five  thousand  dollars! 

"Sha!  That's  all  right,  Doc,"  returned  Heise, 
nibbling  on  a  grain  of  coffee.  "  Want  another? 
Hey?  This  my  treat.  Two  more  of  the  same,  Joe." 

McTeague  hesitated.  It  was  lamentably  true  that 
whiskey  did  not  agree  with  him;  he  knew  it  well 
enough.  However,  by  this  time  he  felt  very  com 
fortably  warm  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  The  blood 
was  beginning  to  circulate  in  his  chilled  finger-tips 
and  in  his  soggy,  wet  feet.  He  had  had  a  hard  day 
of  it;  in  fact,  the  last  week,  the  last  month,  the  last 
three  or  four  months,  had  been  hard.  He  deserved 
a  little  consolation.  Nor  could  Trina  object  to  this. 
It  wasn't  costing  a  cent.  He  drank  again  with 
Heise. 

"  Get  up  here  to  the  stove  and  warm  yourself," 
urged  Heise,  drawing  up  a  couple  of  chairs  and 
cocking  his  feet  upon  the  sruard.  The  two  fell  to 
293 


McTeague 

talking  while  McTeague's  draggled  coat  and  trou 
sers  smoked. 

"  What  a  dirty  turn  that  was  that  Marcus 
Schouler  did  you! "  said  Heise,  wagging  his  head. 
"  You  ought  to  have  fought  that,  Doc,  sure.  You'd 
been  practising  too  long."  They  discussed  this 
question  some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  and  then  Heise 

rose. 

*>j?4 
"  Well,  this  ain't  earning  any  money.     I  got  to 

get  back  to  the  shop."  McTeague  got  up  as  well, 
and  the  pair  started  for  the  door.  Just  as  they  were 
going  out  Ryer  met  them. 

"  Hello,  hello,"  he  cried.  "  Lord,  what  a  wet  day! 
You  two  are  going  the  wrong  way.  You're  going 
to  have  a  drink  with  me.  Three  whiskey  punches, 
Joe." 

"  No,  no,"  answered  McTeague,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I'm  going  back  home.  I've  had  two 
glasses  of  whiskey  already." 

"Sha!"  cried  Heise,  catching  his  arm.  "A 
strapping  big  chap  like  you  ain't  afraid  of  a  little 
whiskey." 

"  Well,  I — I — I  got  to  go  right  afterwards,"  pro 
tested  McTeague. 

About  half  an  hour  after  the  dentist  had  left  to  go 
down  town,  Maria  Macapa  had  come  in  to  see 
Trina.  Occasionally  Maria  dropped  in  on  Trina  in 
this  fashion  and  spent  an  hour  or  so  chatting  with 
her  while  she  worked.  At  first  Trina  had  been  in 
clined  to  resent  these  intrusions  of  the  Mexican 
woman,  but  of  late  she  had  begun  to  tolerate  them. 
Her  day  was  long  and  cheerless  at  the  best,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  talk  to.  Trina  even  fancied 
294 


McTeague 

that  old  Miss  Baker  had  come  to  be  less  cordial 
since  their  misfortune.  Maria  retailed  to  her  all 
the  gossip  of  the  flat  and  the  neighborhood,  and, 
which  was  much  more  interesting,  told  her  of  her 
troubles  with  Zerkow. 

Trina  said  to  herself  that  Maria  was  common  and 
vulgar,  but  one  had  to  have  some  diversion,  and 
Trina  could  talk  and  listen  without  interrupting  her 
work.  On  this  particular  occasion  Maria  was  much 
excited  over  Zerkow's  demeanor  of  late. 

"  He's  gettun  worse  an'  worse,"  she  informed 
Trina  as  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  her  chin  in 
her  hand.  "  He  says  he  knows  I  got  the  dishes  and 
am  hidun  them  from  him.  The  other  day  I  thought 
he'd  gone  off  with  his  wagon,  and  I  was  doin'  a  bit 
of  ir'ning,  an'  by  an'  by  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  him 
peeping  at  me  through  the  crack  of  the  door.  I 
never  let  on  that  I  saw  him,  and,  honest,  he  stayed 
there  over  two  hours,  watchun  everything  I  did.  I 
could  just  feel  his  eyes  on  the  back  of  my  neck 
all  the  time.  Last  Sunday  he  took  down  part  of 
the  wall,  'cause  he  said  he'd  seen  me  making 
figures  on  it.  Well,  I  was,  but  it  was  just  the  wash 
list.  All  the  time  he  says  he'll  kill  me  if  I  don't 
tell?" 

"  Why,  what  do  you  stay  with  him  for?  "  ex 
claimed  Trina.  "  I'd  be  deathly  'fraid  of  a  man  like 
that;  and  he  did  take  a  knife  to  you  once." 

"  Hoh!  he  won't  kill  me,  never  fear.  If  he'd  kill 
me  he'd  never  know  where  the  dishes  were;  that's 
what  he  thinks." 

"But  I  can't  understand,  Maria;  you  told  him 
about  those  gold  dishes  yourself." 
295 


McTeague 

"  Never,  never!  I  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  crazy 
folks  as  you  are." 

"  But  you  say  he  hits  you  sometimes." 

"Ah!  "  said  Maria,  tossing  her  head  scornfully, 
"  I  ain't  afraid  of  him.  He  takes  his  horsewhip  to 
me  now  and  then,  but  I  can  always  manage.  I  say, 
'  If  you  touch  me  with  that,  then  I'll  never  tell  you/ 
Just  pretending,  you  know,  and  he  drops  it  as 
though  it  was  red  hot.  Say,  Mrs.  McTeague,  have 
you  got  any  tea?  Let's  make  a  cup  of  tea  over  the 
stove."  ^i 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Trina,  with  niggardly  apprehen 
sion;  "no,  I  haven't  got  a  bit  of  tea."  Trina's 
stinginess  had  increased  to  such  an  extent  that  it 
had  gone  beyond  the  mere  hoarding  of  money.  She 
grudged  even  the  food  that  she  and  McTeague  ate, 
and  even  brought  away  half  loaves  of  bread,  lumps 
of  sugar,  and  fruit  from  the  car  conductors'  coffee- 
joint.  She  hid  these  pilferings  away  on  the  shelf  by 
the  window,  and  often  managed  to  make  a  very 
creditable  lunch  from  them,  enjoying  the  meal  with 
the  greater  relish  because  it  cost  her  nothing. 

"  No,  Maria,  I  haven't  got  a  bit  of  tea,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head  decisively.  "  Hark,  ain't  that 
Mac?  "  she  added,  her  chin  in  the  air.  "  That's  his 
step,  sure." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  skip,"  said  Maria.  She  left 
hurriedly,  passing  the  dentist  in  the  hall  just  out 
side  the  door. 

"Well?"  said  Trina  interrogatively  as  her  hus 
band  entered.      McTeague  did  not  answer.      He 
hung  his  hat  on  the  hook  behind  the  door  and 
dropped  heavily  into  a  chair. 
296 


McTeague 

"  Well,"  asked  Trina,  anxiously,  "  how  did  you 
make  out,  Mac?  " 

Still  the  dentist  pretended  not  to  hear,  scowling 
fiercely  at  his  muddy  boots. 

"  Tell  me,  Mac,  I  want  to  know.  Did  you  get 
a  place?  Did  you  get  caught  in  the  rain? " 

"  Did  I?  Did  I?  "  cried  the  dentist,  sharply,  an 
alacrity  in  his  manner  and  voice  that  Trina  had 
never  observed  before. 

"  Look  at  me.  Look  at  me/'  he  went  on,  speak 
ing  with  an  unwonted  rapidity,  his  wits  sharp,  his 
ideas  succeeding  each  other  quickly.  "  Look  at 
me,  drenched  through,  shivering  cold.  I've. walked 
the  city  over.  Caught  in  the  rain!  Yes,  I  guess  I 
did  get  caught  in  the  rain,  and  it  ain't  your  fault 
I  didn't  catch  my  death-a-cold;  wouldn't  even  let 
me  have  a  nickel  for  car  fare." 

"  But,  Mac,"  protested  Trina,  "  I  didn't  know  it 
was  going  to  rain." 

The  dentist  put  back  his  head  and  laughed  scorn 
fully.  His  face  was  very  red,  and  his  small  eyes 
twinkled.  "  Hoh !  no,  you  didn't  know  it  was  going 
to  rain.  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  was?"  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly  angry  again.  "  Oh,  you're  a  daisy, 
you  are.  Think  I'm  going  to  put  up  with  your 
foolishness  all  the  time?  Who's  the  boss,  you 
or  I?" 

"  WThy,  Mac,  I  never  saw  you  this  way  before. 
You  talk  like  a  different  man." 

"  Well,  I  am  a  different  man,"  retorted  the  den 
tist,  savagely.  "  You  can't  make  small  of  me 
always" 

"  Well,  never  mind  that.  You  know  I'm  not  try- 
297 


McTeague 

ing  to  make  small  of  you.     But  never  mind  that. 
Did  you  get  a  place?  " 

"  Give  me  my  money,"  exclaimed  McTeague, 
jumping  up  briskly.  There  was  an  activity,  a  posi 
tive  nimbleness  about  the  huge  blond  giant  that  had 
never  been  his  before;  also  his  stupidity,  the  slug 
gishness  of  his  brain,  seemed  to  be  unusually  stimu 
lated. 

"  Give  me  my  money,  the  money  I  gave  you  as 
I  was  going  away." 

"  I  can't,"  exclaimed  Trina.  "  I  paid  the  grocer's 
bill  with  it  while  you  were  gone." 

"  Don't  believe  you." 

"  Truly,  truly,  Mac.  Do  you  think  I'd  lie  to  you? 
Do  you  think  I'd  lower  myself  to  do  that?  " 

"  Well,  the  next  time  I  earn  any  money  I'll  keep 
it  myself." 

"  But  tell  me,  Mac,  did  you  get  a  place?  " 

McTeague  turned  his  back  on  her. 

"Tell  me,  Mac,  please,  did  you?" 

The  dentist  jumped  up  and  thrust  his  face  close  to 
hers,  his  heavy  jaw  protruding,  his  little  eyes  twink 
ling  meanly. 

"  No,"  he  shouted.  "  No,  no,  no.  Do  you  hear? 
No." 

Trina  cowered  before  him.  Then  suddenly  she 
began  to  sob  aloud,  weeping  partly  at  his  strange 
brutality,  partly  at  the  disappointment  of  his  fail 
ure  to  find  employment. 

McTeague   cast   a   contemptuous   glance   about 
him,  a  glance  that  embraced  the  dingy,  cheerless 
room,  the  rain  streaming  down  the  panes  of  the  one 
window,  and  the  figure  of  his  weeping  wife. 
298 


McTeague 

"  Oh,  ain't  this  all  fine?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Ain't 
it  lovely?" 

"  It's  not  my  fault,"  sobbed  Trina. 

"  It  is  too,"  vociferated  McTeague.  "  It  is  too. 
We  could  live  like  Christians  and  decent  people 
if  you  wanted  to.  You  got  more'n  five  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  you're  so  damned  stingy  that 
you'd  rather  live  in  a  rat  hole — and  make  me  live 
there  too — before  you'd  part  with  a  nickel  of 
it.  I  tell  you  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  busi 
ness." 

An  allusion  to  her  lottery  money  never  failed  to 
rouse  Trina. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  this  much  too,"  she  cried,  wink 
ing  back  the  tears.  "  Now  .that  you're  out  of  a 
job,  we  can't  afford  even  to  live  in  your  rat  hole, 
as  you  call  it.  We've  got  to  find  a  cheaper  place 
than  this  even." 

''What!"  exclaimed  the  dentist,  purple  with 
rage.  "  What,  get  into  a  worse  hole  in  the  wall  than 
this?  Well,  we'll  sec  if  we  will.  We'll  just  see 
about  that.  You're  going  to  do  just  as  I  tell  you 
after  this,  Trina  McTeague,"  and  once  more  he 
thrust  his  face  close  to  hers. 

"  /  know  what's  the  matter,"  cried  Trina,  with  a 
half  sob;  "/  know,  I  can  smell  it  on  your  breath. 
You've  been  drinking  whiskey." 

"  Yes,  I've  been  drinking  whiskey,"  retorted  her 
husband.  "  I've  been  drinking  whiskey.  Have 
you  got  anything  to  say  about  it?  Ah,  yes,  you're 
right,  I've  been  drinking  whiskey.  What  have  you 
got  to  say  about  my  drinking  whiskey?  Let's 
hear  it." 

299 


McTeague 

"  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  "  sobbed  Trina,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands.  McTeague  caught  her  wrists 
in  one  palm  and  pulled  them  down.  Trina's  pale 
face  was  streaming  with  tears;  her  long,  narrow  blue 
eyes  were  swimming;  her  adorable  little  chin  up 
raised  and  quivering. 

"  Let's  hear  what  you  got  to  say,"  exclaimed 
McTeague. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  said  Trina,  between  her 
sobs. 

"  Then  stop  that  noise.  Stop  it,  do  you  hear  me? 
Stop  it."  He  threw  up  his  open  hand  threaten 
ingly.  "  Stop!  "  he  exclaimed. 

Trina  looked  at  him  fearfully,  half  blinded  with 
weeping.  Her  husband's  thick  mane  of  yellow  hair 
was  disordered  and  rumpled  upon  his  great  square- 
cut  head;  his  big  red  ears  were  redder  than  ever; 
his  face  was  purple;  the  thick  eyebrows  were 
knotted  over  the  small,  twinkling  eyes;  the  heavy 
yellow  mustache,  that  smelt  of  alcohol,  drooped 
over  the  massive,  protruding  chin,  salient,  like  that 
of  the  carnivora;  the  veins  were  swollen  and  throb 
bing  on  his  thick  red  neck;  while  over  her  head 
Trina  saw  his  upraised  palm,  calloused,  enormous. 

"Stop!"  he  exclaimed.  And  Trina,  watching 
fearfully,  saw  the  palm  suddenly  contract  into  a  fist, 
a  fist  that  was  hard  as  a  wooden  mallet,  the  fist 
of  the  old-time  car-boy.  And  then  her  ancient 
terror  of  him,  the  intuitive  fear  of  the  male,  leaped 
to  life  again.  She  was  afraid  of  him.  Every  nerve 
of  her  quailed  and  shrank  from  him.  She  choked 
back  her  sobs,  catching  her  breath. 

"  There,"  growled  the  dentist,  releasing  her, 
300 


McTeague 

"  that's  more  like.  Now,"  he  went  on,  fixing  her 
with  his  little  eyes,  "  now  listen  to  me.  I'm  beat 
out.  I've  walked  the  city  over — ten  miles,  I  guess 

an'  I'm  going  to  bed,  an'  I  don't  want  to  be 

bothered.  You  understand?  I  want  to  be  let 
alone."  Trina  was  silent. 

"  Do  you  hear?  "  he  snarled. 

"  Yes,  Mac." 

The  dentist  took  off  his  coat,  his  collar  and  neck 
tie,  unbuttoned  his  vest,  and  slipped  his  heavy-soled 
boots  from  his  big  feet,  Then  he  stretched  himself 
upon  the  bed  and  rolled  over  towards  the  wall.  In 
.a  few  minutes  the  sound  of  his  snoring  filled  the 
room. 

Trina  craned  her  neck  and  looked  at  her  husband 
over  the  footboard  of  the  bed.  She  saw  his  red, 
congested  face;  the  huge  mouth  wide  open;  his  un 
clean  shirt,  with  its  frayed  wristbands;  and  his  huge 
feet  encased  in  thick  woollen  socks.  Then  her  grief 
and  the  sense  of  her  unhappiness  returned  more 
poignant  than  ever.  She  stretched  her  arms  out  in 
front  of  her  on  her  work-table,  and,  burying  her  face 
in  them,  cried  and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart 
would  break. 

The  rain  continued.  The  panes  of  the  single 
window  ran  with  sheets  of  water;  the  eaves  dripped 
incessantly.  It  grew  darker.  The  tiny,  grimy 
room,  full  of  the  smells  of  cooking  and  of  "  non- 
poisonous  "  paint,  took  on  an  aspect  of  desolation 
and  cheerlessness  lamentable  beyond  words.  The 
canary  in  its  little  gilt  prison  chittered  feebly  from 
time  to  time.  Sprawled  at  full  length  upon  the  bed, 
the  dentist  snored  and  snored,  stupefied,  inert,  his 
301 


McTeague 

legs  wide  apart,  his  hands  lying  palm  upward  at  his 
sides. 

At  last  Trina  raised  her  head,  with  a  long,  trem 
bling  breath.  She  rose,  and  going  over  to  the 
washstand,  poured  some  water  from  the  pitcher  into 
the  basin,  and  washed  her  face  and  swollen  eyelids, 
and  rearranged  her  hair.  Suddenly,  as  she  was 
about  to  return  to  her  work,  she  was  struck  with 
an  idea. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  wonder  where 
he  got  the  money  to  buy  his  whiskey."  She 
searched  the  pockets  of  his  coat,  which  he  had  flung 
into  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  even  came  up  to  him 
as  he  lay  upon  the  bed  and  went  through  the 
pockets  of  his  vest  and  trousers.  She  found  noth 
ing. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  murmured,  "  I  wonder  if  he's 
got  any  money  he  don't  tell  me  about.  I'll  have  to 
look  out  for  that." 


302 


<-'-  XVI. 

A  week  passed,  then  a  fortnight,  then  a  month. 
It  was  a  month  of  the  greatest  anxiety  and  un- 
quietude  for  Trina.  McTeague  was  out  of  a  job, 
could  find  nothing  to  do;  and  Trina,  who  saw  the 
impossibility  of  saving  as  much  money  as  usual 
out  of  her  earnings  under  the  present  conditions, 
was  on  the  lookout  for  cheaper  quarters.  In  spite 
of  his  outcries  and  sulky  resistance  Trina  had  in 
duced  her  husband  to  consent  to  such  a  move,  be 
wildering  him  with  a  torrent  of  phrases  and  mar 
vellous  columns  of  figures  by  which  she  proved 
conclusively  that  they  were  in  a  condition  but  one 
remove  from  downright  destitution. 

The  dentist  continued  idle.  Since  his  ill  success, 
with  the  manufacturers  of  surgical  instruments  he 
had  made  but  two  attempts  to  secure  a  job.  Trine, 
had  gone  to  see  Uncle  Oelbermann  and  had  ob 
tained  for  McTeague  a  position  in  the  shipping  de 
partment  of  the  wholesale  toy  store.  However,  it 
was  a  position  that  involved  a  certain  amount  of 
ciphering,  and  McTeague  had  been  obliged  to 
throw  it  up  in  two  days. 

Then  for  a  time  they  had  entertained  a  wild  idea 
that  a  place  on  the  police  force  could  be  secured 
for  McTeague.  He  could  pass  the  physical  ex 
amination  with  flying  colors,  and  Ryer,  who  had 
become  the  secretary  of  the  Polk  Street  Improve- 
303 


McTeague 

ment  Club,  promised  the  requisite  political  "  pull." 
If  McTeague  had  shown  a  certain  energy  in  the 
matter  the  attempt  might  have  been  successful;  but 
he  was  too  stupid,  or  of  late  had  become  too  listless 
to  exert  himself  greatly,  and  the  affair  resulted 
only  in  a  violent  quarrel  with  Ryer. 

McTeague  had  lost  his  ambition.  He  did  not 
care  to  better  his  situation.  All  he  wanted  was  a 
warm  place  to  sleep  and  three  good  meals  a  day. 
At  the  first — at  the  very  first — he  had  chafed  at  his 
idleness  and  had  spent  the  days  with  his  wife  in 
their  one  narrow  room,  walking  back  and  forth 
with  the  restlessness  of  a  caged  brute,  or  sitting 
motionless  for  hours,  watching  Trina  at  her  work, 
feeling  a  dull  glow  of  shame  at  the  idea  that  she 
was  supporting  him.  This  feeling  had  worn  off 
quickly,  however.  Trina's  work  was  only  hard 
when  she  chose  to  make  it  so,  and  as  a  rule  she 
supported  their  misfortunes  with  a  silent  fortitude. 

Then,  wearied  at  his  inaction  and  feeling  the 
need  of  movement  and  exercise,  McTeague  would 
light  his  pipe  and  take  a  turn  upon  the  great  avenue 
one  block  above  Polk  Street.  A  gang  of  laborers 
were  digging  the  foundations  for  a  large  brown- 
stone  house,  and  McTeague  found  interest  and 
amusement  in  leaning  over  the  barrier  that  sur 
rounded  the  excavations  and  watching  the  progress 
of  the  work.  He  came  to  see  it  every  afternoon; 
by  and  by  he  even  got  to  know  the  foreman  who 
superintended  the  job,  and  the  two  had  long  talks 
together.  Then  McTeague  would  return  to  Polk 
Street  and  find  Heise  in  the  back  room  of  the  har 
ness  shop,  and  occasionally  the  day  ended  with 
304 


McTeague 

some  half  dozen  drinks  of  whiskey  at  Joe  Frenna's 
saloon. 

It  was  curious  to  note  the  effect  of  the  alcohol 
upon  the  dentist.  It  did  not  make  him  drunk,  it 
made  him  vicious.  So  far  from  being  stupefied,  he 
became,  after  the  fourth  glass,  active,  alert,  quick 
witted,  even  talkative;  a  certain  wickedness  stirred 
in  him  then;  he  was  intractable,  mean;  and  when  he 
had  drunk  a  little  more  heavily  than  usual,  he  found 
a  certain  pleasure  in  annoying  and  exasperating 
Trina,  even  in  abusing  and  hurting  her. 

It  had  begun  on  the  evening  of  Thanksgiving 
Day,  when  Heise  had  taken  McTeague  out  to  din 
ner  with  him.  The  dentist  on  this  occasion  had 
drunk  very  freely.  He  and  Heise  had  returned  to 
Polk  Street  towards  ten  o'clock,  and  Heise  at  once 
suggested  a  couple  of  drinks  at  Frenna's. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  said  McTeague.  "  Drinks, 
that's  the  word.  I'll  go  home  and  get  some  money 
and  meet  you  at  Joe's." 

Trina  was  awakened  by  her  husband  pinching 
her  arm. 

"  Oh,  Mac,"  she  cried,  jumping  up  in  bed  with  a 
little  scream,  "-how  you  hurt!  Oh,  that  hurt  me 
dreadfully." 

"  Give  me  a  little  money,"  answered  the  dentist, 
grinning,  and  pinching  her  again. 

"  I  haven't  a  cent.  There's  not  a — oh,  Afar, 
will  you  stop?  I  won't  have  you  pinch  me  that 
way." 

"  Hurry  up,"  answered  her  husband,  calmly,  nip 
ping  the  flesh  of  her  shoulder  between  his  thumb 
and  finger.  "  Heise's  waiting  for  me."  Trina 
20  305 


McTeague 

wrenched  from  him  with  a  sharp  intake  of  breath, 
frowning  with  pain,  and  caressing  her  shoulder. 

"  Mac,  you've  no  idea  how  that  hurts.  Mac, 
stop!" 

"  Give  me  some  money,  then." 

In  the  end  Trina  had  to  comply.  She  gave  him 
half  a  dollar  from  her  dress  pocket,  protesting  that 
it  was  the  only  piece  of  money  she  had. 

"  One  more,  just  for  luck,"  said  McTeague, 
pinching  her  again;  "and  another." 

"  How  can  you — how  can  you  hurt  a  woman  so!  " 
exclaimed  Trina,  beginning  to  cry  with  the  pain. 

"  Ah,  now,  cry"  retorted  the  dentist.  "  That's 
right,  cry.  I  never  saw  such  a  little  fool."  He 
went  out,  slamming  the  door  in  disgust. 

But  McTeague  never  became  a  drunkard  in  the 
generally  received  sense  of  the  term.  He  did  not 
drink  to  excess  more  than  two  or  three  times  in  a 
month,  and  never  upon  any  occasion  did  he  be 
come  maudlin  or  staggering.  Perhaps  his  nerves 
were  naturally  too  dull  to  admit  of  any  excitation; 
perhaps  he  did  not  really  care  for  the  whiskey,  and 
only  drank  because  Heise  and  the  other  men  at 
Frenna's  did.  Trina  could  often  reproach  rnm 
with  drinking  too  much;  she  never  could  say  that 
he  was  drunk.  The  alcohol  had  its  effect  for  all 
that.  It  roused  the  man,  or  rather  the  brute  in  the 
man,  and  now  not  only  roused  it,  but  goaded  it  to 
evil.  McTeague's  nature  changed.  It  was  not 
only  the  alcohol,  it  was  idleness  and  a  general 
throwing  off  of  the  good  influence  his  wife  had  had 
over  him  in  the  days  of  their  prosperity.  McTeague 
disliked  Trina.  She  was  a  perpetual  irritation  to 
306 


McTeague 

him.  She  annoyed  him  because  she  was  so  small, 
so  prettily  made,  so  invariably  correct  and  precise. 
Her  avarice  incessantly  harassed  him.  Her  indus 
try  was  a  constant  reproach  to  him.  She  seemed 
to  flaunt  her  work  defiantly  in  his  face.  It  was  the 
red  {lag  in  the  eyes  of  the  bull.  One  time  when  he 
had  just  come  back  from  Frenna's  and  had  been 
sitting  in  the  chair  near  her,  silently  watching  her  at 
her  work,  he  exclaimed  all  of  a  sudden: 

"  Stop  working.  Stop  it,  I  tell  you.  Put  'em 
away.  Put  'em  all  away,  or  I'll  pinch  you." 

"  But  why — why?"  Trina  protested. 

The  dentist  cuffed  her  ears.  "  I  won't  have  you 
work."  He  took  her  knife  and  her  paint-pots  away, 
and  made  her  sit  idly  in  the  window  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon. 

It  was,  however,  only  when  his  wits  had  been 
stirred  with  alcohol  that  the  dentist  was  brutal  to  his 
wife.  At  other  times,  say  three  weeks  of  every 
month,  she  was  merely  an  incumbrance  to  him. 
They  often  quarrelled  about  Trina's  money,  her 
savings.  The  dentist  was  bent  upon  having  at  least 
a  part  of  them.  What  he  would  do  with  the  money 
once  he  had  it,  he  did  not  precisely  know.  He 
would  spend  it  in  royal  fashion,  no  doubt,  feasting 
continually,  buying  himself  wonderful  clothes.  The 
miner's  idea  of  money  quickly  gained  and  lavishly 
squandered,  persisted  in  his  mind.  As  for  Trina, 
the  more  her  husband  stormed,  the  tighter  she  drew 
the  strings  of  the  little  chamois-skin  bag  that  she 
hid  at  the  bottom  of  her  trunk  underneath  her 
bridal  dress.  Her  five  thousand  dollars  invested 
in  Uncle  Oelbermann's  business  was  a  glittering, 
307 


McTeague 

splendid  dream  which  came  to  her  almost  every 
hour  of  the  day  as  a  solace  and  a  compensation  for 
all  her  unhappiness. 

At  times,  when  she  knew  that  McTeague  was  far 
from  home,  she  would  lock  her  door,  open  her 
trunk,  and  pile  all  her  little  hoard  on  her  table.  By 
now  it  was  four  hundred  and  seven  dollars  and  fifty 
cents.  Trina  would  play  with  this  money  by  the 
hour,  piling  it,  and  repiling  it,  or  gathering  it  all 
into  one  heap,  and  drawing  back  to  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room  to  note  the  effect,  her  head  on 
one  side.  She  polished  the  gold  pieces  with  a  mix 
ture  of  soap  and  ashes  until  they  shone,  wiping  them 
carefully  on  her  apron.  Or,  again,  she  would  draw 
the  heap  lovingly  toward  her  and  bury  her  face  in 
it,  delighted  at  the  smell  of  it  and  the  feel  of  the 
smooth,  cool  metal  on  her  cheeks.  She  even  put 
the  smaller  gold  pieces  in  her  mouth,  and  jingled 
them  there.  She  loved  her  money  with  an  intensity 
I  that  she  could  hardly  express.  She  would  plunge 
her  small  fingers  into  the  pile  with  little  murmurs 
of  affection,  her  long,  narrow  eyes  half  closed  and 
shining,  her  breath  coming  in  long  sighs. 

"  Ah,  the  dear  money,  the  dear  money,"  she 
would  whisper.  "  I  love  you  so!  All  mine,  every 
penny  of  it.  No  one  shall  ever,  ever  get  you.  How 
I've  worked  for  you!  How  I've  slaved  and  saved 
for  you!  And  I'm  going  to  get  more;  I'm  going 
to  get  more,  more,  more;  a  little  every  day." 

She    was    still    looking    for    cheaper    quarters. 

Whenever   she   could   spare   a   moment   from   her 

work,  she  would  put  on  her  hat  and  range  up  and 

down  the  entire  neighborhood  from  Sutter  to  Sac- 

308 


McTeague 

ramento  Streets,  going  into  all  the  alleys  and  by 
streets,  her  head  in  the  air,  looking  for  the  "  Rooms- 
to-let  "  sign.  But  she  was  in  despair.  All  the 
cheaper  tenements  were  occupied.  She  could  find 
no  room  more  reasonable  than  the  one  she  and  the 
dentist  now  occupied. 

As  time  went  on,  McTeague's  idleness  became 
habitual.  He  drank  no  more  whiskey  than  at  first, 
but  his  dislike  for  Trina  increased  with  every  day  of 
their  poverty,  with  every  day  of  Trina's  persistent 
stinginess.  At  times — fortunately  rare — he  was 
more  than  ever  brutal  to  her.  He  would  box  her 
ears  or  hit  her  a  great  blow  with  the  back  of  a  hair 
brush,  or  even  with  his  closed  fist.  His  old-time 
affection  for  his  "  little  woman,"  unable  to  stand 
the  test  of  privation,  had  lapsed  by  degrees,  and 
what  little  of  it  was  left  was  changed,  distorted,  and 
made  monstrous  by  the  alcohol 

The  people  about  the  house  and  the  clerks  at  the 
provision  stores  often  remarked  that  Trina's  finger 
tips  were  swollen  and  the  nails  purple  as  though 
they  had  been  shut  in  a  door.  Indeed,  this  was  the 
explanation  she  gave.  The  fact  of  the  matter  was 
that  McTeague,  when  he  had  been  drinking,  used  to 
bite  them,  crunching  and  grinding  them  with  his 
immense  teeth,  always  ingenious  enough  to  remem 
ber  which  were  the  sorest.  Sometimes  he  extorted 
money  from  her  by  this  means,  but  as  often  as  not 
he  did  it  for  his  own  satisfaction. 

And  in  some  strange,  inexplicable  way  this  bru 
tality  made  Trina  all  the  more  affectionate;  aroused 
in  her  a  morbid,  unwholesome  love  of  submission, 
a  strange,  unnatural  pleasure  in  yielding,  in  sur- 
309 


McTeague 

rendering  herself  to  the  will  of  an  irresistible,  virile 
power. 

Trina's  emotions  had  narrowed  with  the  narrow 
ing  of  her  daily  life.  They  reduced  themselves  at 
last  to  but  two,  her  passion  for  her  money  and  her 
perverted  love  for  her  husband  when  he  was  brutal. 
She  was  a  strange  woman  during  these  days. 

Trina  had  come  to  be  on  very  intimate  terms  with 
Maria  Macapa,  and  in  the  end  the  dentist's  wife  and 
the  maid  of  all  work  became  great  friends.  Maria 
was  constantly  in  and  out  of  Trina's  room,  and, 
whenever  she  could,  Trina  threw  a  shawl  over  her 
head  and  returned  Maria's  calls.  Trina  could  reach 
Zerkow's  dirty  house  without  going  into  the  street. 
The  back  yard  of  the  flat  had  a  gate  that  opened 
into  a  little  inclosure  where  Zerkow  kept  his  de 
crepit  horse  and  ramshackle  wagon,  and  from 
thence  Trina  could  enter  directly  into  Maria's 
kitchen.  Trina  made  long  visits  to  Maria  during 
the  morning  in  her  dressing-gown  and  curl  papers, 
and  the  two  talked  at  great  length  over  a  cup  of  tea 
served  on  the  edge  of  the  sink  or  a  corner  of  the 
laundry  table.  The  talk  was  all  of  their  husbands 
and  of  what  to  do  when  they  came  home  in  ag 
gressive  moods. 

"  You  never  ought  to  fight  um,"  advised  Maria. 
"  It  only  makes  um  worse.  Just  hump  your  back, 
and  it's  soonest  over." 

They  told  each  other  of  their  husbands'  brutali 
ties,  taking  a  strange  sort  of  pride  in  recounting 
some  particularly  savage  blow,  each  trying  to  make 
out  that  her  own  husband  was  the  most  cruel.  They 
critically  compared  each  other's  bruises,  each  one 
310 


McTeague 

glad  when  she  could  exhibit  the  worst.  They  ex 
aggerated,  they  invented  details,  and,  as  if  proud  of 
their  beatings,  as  if  glorying  in  their  husbands'  mis 
handling,  lied  to  each  other,  magnifying  their  own 
maltreatment.  They  had  long  and  excited  argu 
ments  as  to  which  were  the  most  effective  means  of 
punishment,  the  rope's  ends  and  cart  whips  such  as 
Zerkow  used,  or  the  fists  and  backs  of  hair-brushes 
affected  by  McTeague.  Maria  contended  that  the 
lash  of  the  whip  hurt  the  most;  Trina,  that  the  butt 
did  the  most  injury. 

Maria  showed  Trina  the  holes  in  the  walls  and  the 
loosened  boards  in  the  flooring  where  Zerkow  had 
been  searching  for  the  gold  plate.  Of  late  he  had 
been  digging  in  the  back  yard  and  had  ransacked 
the  hay  in  his  horse-shed  for  the  concealed  leather 
chest  he  imagined  he  would  find.  But  he  was  be 
coming  impatient,  evidently. 

"  The  way  he  goes  on,"  Maria  told  Trina,  "  is 
somethun  dreadful.  He's  gettun  regularly  sick 
with  it — got  a  fever  every  night — don't  sleep,  and 
when  he  does,  talks  to  himself.  Says  '  More'n  a 
hundred  pieces,  an'  every  one  of  'em  gold.  More'n 
a  hundred  pieces,  an'  every  one  of  'em  gold.'  Then 
he'll  whale  me  with  his  whip,  and  shout,  *  You  know 
where  it  is.  Tell  me,  tell  me,  you  swine,  or  I'll 
'do  for  you.'  An'  then  he'll  get  down  on  his  knees 
and  whimper,  and  beg  me  to  tell  um  where  I've  hid 
it.  He's  just  gone  plum  crazy.  Sometimes  he  has 
regular  fits,  he  gets  so  mad,  and  rolls  on  the  floor 
and  scratches  himself." 

One  morning  in  November,  about  ten  o'clock, 
Trina  pasted  a  "  Made  in  France  "  label  on  the  bot- 


McTeague 

torn  of  a  Noah's  ark,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
with  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  She  had  just  finished  a 
large  Christmas  order  for  Uncle  Oelbermann,  and 
there  was  nothing  else  she  could  do  that  morning. 
The  bed  had  not  yet  been  made,  nor  had  the  break 
fast  things  been  washed.  Trina  hesitated  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  put  her  chin  in  the  air  indifferently. 

"  Bah!  "  she  said,  "  let  them  go  till  this  afternoon. 
I  don't  care  when  the  room  is  put  to  rights,  and  I 
know  Mac  don't."  She  determined  that  instead  of 
making  the  bed  or  washing  the  dishes  she  would  go 
and  call  on  Miss  Baker  on  the  floor  below.  The 
little  dressmaker  might  ask  her  to  stay  to  lunch,  and 
that  would  be  something  saved,  as  the  dentist  had 
announced  his  intention  that  morning  of  taking  a 
long  walk  out  to  the  Presidio  to  be  gone  all  day. 

But  Trina  rapped  on  Miss  Baker's  door  in  vain 
that  morning.  She  was  out.  Perhaps  she  was 
gone  to  the  florist's  to  buy  some  geranium  seeds. 
However,  Old  Grannis's  door  stood  a  little  ajar,  and 
on  hearing  Trina  at  Miss  Baker's  room,  the  old 
Englishman  came  out  into  the  hall. 

"  She's  gone  out,"  he  said,  uncertainly,  and  in  a 
half  whisper,  "  went  out  about  half  an  hour  ago.  I 
— I  think  she  went  to  the  drug  store  to  get  some 
wafers  for  the  goldfish." 

"  Don't  you  go  to  your  dog  hospital  any  more, 
Mister  Grannis?"  said  Trina,  leaning  against  the 
balustrade  in  the  hall,  willing  to  talk  a  moment. 

Old  Grannis  stood  in  the  doorway  of  his  room,  in 
his  carpet  slippers  and  faded  corduroy  jacket  that 
he  wore  when  at  home. 

"  Why — why,"  he  said,-  hesitating,  tapping  his 
312 


McTeague 

chin  thoughtfully.  "  You  see  I'm  thinking  of  giv 
ing  up  the  little  hospital." 

"Giving  it  up?" 

"  You  see,  the  people  at  the  book  store  where  I 
buy  my  pamphlets  have  found  out — I  told  them  of 
my  contrivance  for  binding  books,  and  one  of  the 
members  of  the  firm  came  up  to  look  at  it.  He 
offered  me  quite  a  sum  if  I  would  sell  him  the  right 
of  it — the — the  patent  of  it — quite  a  sum.  In  fact — 
in  fact — yes,  quite  a  sum,  quite."  He  rubbed  his 
chin  tremulously  and  looked  about  him  on  the 
floor. 

"Why,  isn't  that  fine?"  said  Trina,  good-na 
turedly.  "  I'm  very  glad,  Mister  Grannis.  Is  it  a 
good  price?  " 

"  Quite  a  sum — quite.  In  fact,  I  never  dreamed 
of  having  so  much  money." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mister  Grannis,"  said  Trina, 
decisively,  "  I  want  to  give  you  a  good  piece  of 

advice.     Here  are  you  and  Miss  Baker '      The 

old  Englishman  started  nervously — "  You  and  Miss 
Baker,  that  have  been  in  love  with  each  other 
for " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  McTeague,  that  subject — if  you  would 
please — Miss  Baker  is  such  an  estimable  lady." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  Trina.  "You're  in  love 
with  each  other,  and  the  whole  flat  knows  it;  and 
you  two  have  been  living  here  side  by  side  year  in 
and  year  out,  and  you've  never  said  a  word  to  each 
other.  It's  all  nonsense.  Now,  I  want  you  should 
go  right  in  and  speak  to  her  just  as  soon  as  she 
comes  home,  and  say  you've  come  into  money  and 
you  want  her  to  marry  you." 
313 


McTeague 

,  "Impossible — impossible!"  exclaimed  the  old 
Englishman,  alarmed  and  perturbed.  "  It's  quite 
out  of  the  question.  I  wouldn't  presume." 

"  Well,  do  you  love  her,  or  not?  " 

"  Really,  Mrs.  McTeague,  I — I — you  must  ex 
cuse  me.  It's  a  matter  so  personal — so — I — Oh, 
yes,  I  love  her.  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly. 

"  Well,  then,  she  loves  you.     She  told  me  so." 

"Oh!" 

"  She  did.     She  said  those  very  words." 

Miss  Baker  had  said  nothing  of  the  kind — would 
have  died  sooner  than  have  made  such  a  confession; 
but  Trina  had  drawn  her  own  conclusions,  like 
every  other  lodger  of  the  flat,  and  thought  the  time 
was  come  for  decided  action. 

"  Now  you  do  just  as  I  tell  you,  and  when  she 
comes  home,  go  right  in  and  see  her,  and  have  it 
over  with.  Now,  don't  say  another  word.  I'm  go 
ing;  but  you  do  just  as  I  tell  you." 

Trina  turned  about  and  went  down-stairs.  She 
had  decided,  since  Miss  Baker  was  not  at  home, 
that  she  would  run  over  and  see  Maria;  possibly  she 
could  have  lunch  there.  At  any  rate,  Maria  would 
offer  her  a  cup  of  tea. 

Old  Grannis  stood  for  a  long  time  just  as  Trina 
had  left  him,  his  hands  trembling,  the  blood  com 
ing  and  going  in  his  withered  cheeks. 

"  She  said,  she — she — she  told  her — she  said  that 
• — that "  he  could  get  no  farther. 

Then  he  faced  about  and  entered  his  room,  clos 
ing  the  door  behind  him.  For  a  long  time  he  sat 
m  his  armchair,  drawn  close  to  the  wall  in  front  of 


McTeague 

the  table  on  which  stood  his  piles  of  pamphlets  and 
his  little  binding  apparatus. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Trina,  as  she  crossed  the  yard 
back  of  Zerkow's  house,  "  I  wonder  what  rent  Zer- 
kow  and  Maria  pay  for  this  place.  I'll  bet  it's 
cheaper  than  where  Mac  and  I  are." 

Trina  found  Maria  sitting  in  front  of  the  kitchen 
stove,  her  chin  upon  her  breast.  Trina  went  up  to 
her.  She  was  dead.  And  as  Trina  touched  her 
shoulder,  her  head  rolled  sideways  and  showed 
a  fearful  gash  in  her  throat  under  her  ear.  All 
the  front  of  her  dress  was  soaked  through  and 
through. 

Trina  backed  sharply  away  from  the  body,  draw 
ing  her  hands  up  to  her  very  shoulders,  her  eyes 
staring  and  wide,  an  expression  of  unutterable  hor 
ror  twisting  her  face. 

"  Oh-h-h !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  long  breath,  her 
voice  hardly  rising  above  a  whisper.  "  Oh-h,  isn't 
that  horrible! "  Suddenly  she  turned  and  fled 
through  the  front  part  of  the  house  to  the  street 
door,  that  opened  upon  the  little  alley.  She  looked 
wildly  about  her.  Directly  across  the  way  a  butch 
er's  boy  was  getting  into  his  two-wheeled  cart 
drawn  up  in  front  of  the  opposite  house,  while  near 
by  a  peddler  of  wild  game  was  coming  down  the 
street,  a  brace  of  ducks  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  say — say,"  gasped  Trina,  trying  to  get  her 
voice,  "  say,  come  over  here  quick." 

The  butcher's  boy  paused,  one  foot  on  the  wheel, 
and  stared.  Trina  beckoned  frantically. 

"  Come  over  here,  come  over  here  quick." 

The  young  fellow  swung  himself  into  his  seat. 
315 


McTeague 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  woman?  "  he  said, 
half  aloud. 

"  There's  a  murder  been  done,"  cried  Trina, 
swaying  in  the  doorway. 

The  young  fellow  drove  away,  his  head  over  his 
shoulder,  staring  at  Trina  with  eyes  that  were  fixed 
and  absolutely  devoid  of  expression. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  that  woman?  "  he  said 
again  to  himself  as  he  turned  the  corner. 

Trina  wondered  why  she  didn't  scream,  how  she 
could  keep  from  it — how,  at  such  a  moment  as  this, 
she  could  remember  that  it  was  improper  to  make 
a  disturbance  and  create  a  scene  in  the  street.  The 
peddler  of  wild  game  was  looking  at  her  sus 
piciously.  It  would  not  do  to  tell  him.  He  would 
go  away  like  the  butcher's  boy. 

"  Now,  wait  a  minute,"  Trina  said  to  herself, 
speaking  aloud.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  head. 
"  Now,  wait  a  minute.  It  won't  do  for  me  to  lose 
my  wits  now.  What  must  I  do?  "  She  looked 
about  her.  There  was  the  same  familiar  aspect  of 
Polk  Street.  She  could  see  it  at  the  end  of  the 
alley.  The  big  market  opposite  the  flat,  the  de 
livery  carts  rattling  up  and  down,  the  great  ladies 
from  the  avenue  at  their  morning  shopping,  the 
cable  cars  trundling  past,  loaded  with  passengers. 
She  saw  a  little  boy  in  a  flat  leather  cap  whistling 
and  calling  for  an  unseen  dog,  slapping  his  small 
knee  from  time  to  time.  Two  men  came  out  of 
Frenna's  saloon,  laughing  heartily.  Heise  the 
harness-maker  stood  in  the  vestibule  of  his  shop, 
a  bundle  of  whittlings  in  his  apron  of  greasy  ticking. 
And  all  this  was  going  on,  people  were  laughing 
316 


McTeague 

and  living,  buying  and  selling,  walking  about  out 
there  on  the  sunny  sidewalks,  while  behind  her  in 
there — in  there — in  there 

Heise  started  back  from  the  sudden  apparition 
of  a  white-lipped  woman  in  a  blue  dressing-gown 
that  seemed  to  rise  up  before  him  from  his  very 
doorstep. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  McTeague,  you  did  scare  me, 
for— 

"  Oh,  come  over  here  quick."  Trina  put  her 
hand  to  her  neck,  swallowing  something  that 
seemed  to  be  choking  her.  "  Maria's  killed — Zer 
kow's  wife — I  found  her." 

"Get  out!"  exclaimed  Heise,  "you're  joking." 

"  Come  over  here — over  into  the  house — I  found 
her— she's  dead." 

Heise  dashed  across  the  street  on  the  run, 
with  Trina  at  his  heels,  a  trail  of  spilled  whittlings 
marking  his  course.  The  two  ran  down  the 
alley.  The  wild-game  peddler,  a  woman  who 
had  been  washing  down  the  steps  in  a  neighbor 
ing  house,  and  a  man  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat 
stood  at  Zerkow's  doorway,  looking  in  from  time 
to  time,  and  talking  together.  They  seemed 
puzzled. 

"Anything  wrong  in  here?"  asked  the  wild- 
game  peddler  as  Heise  and  Trina  came  up.  Two 
more  men  stopped  on  the  corner  of  the  alley  and 
Polk  Street  and  looked  at  the  group.  A  woman 
with  a  towel  round  her  head  raised  a  window  op 
posite  Zerkow's  house  and  called  to  the  woman  who 
had  been  washing  the  steps,  "  What  is  it,  Mrs. 
Flint?" 

317 


McTeague 

Heise  was  already  inside  the  house.  He  turned 
to  Trina,  panting  from  his  run. 

"  Where  did  you  say — where  was  it — where?  " 

"In  there,"  said  Trina,  "farther  in— the  next 
room/'  They  burst  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Lord! "  ejaculated  Heise,  stopping  a  yard  or  so 
from  the  body,  and  bending  down  to  peer  into  the 
gray  face  with  its  brown  lips. 

"By  God!  he's  killed  her." 

"Who?" 

"  Zerkow,  by  God!  he's  killed  her.  Cut  her 
throat.  He  always  said  he  would." 

"Zerkow?" 

"  He's  killed  her.  Her  throat's  cut.  Good  Lord, 
how  she  did  bleed!  By  God!  he's  done  for  her  in 
good  shape  this  time." 

"  Oh,  I  told  her— I  told  her,"  cried  Trina. 

"  He's  done  for  her  sure  this  time." 

"  She  said  she  could  always  manage — Oh-h!  It's 
horrible." 

"  He's  done  for  her  sure  this  trip.  Cut  her 
throat.  Lor d,  how  she  has  bled!  Did  you  ever  see 
so  much — that's  murder — that's  cold-blooded  mur 
der.  He's  killed  her.  Say,  we  must  get  a  police 
man.  Come  on." 

They  turned  back  through  the  house.  Half  a 
dozen  people — the  wild-game  peddler,  the  man  with 
the  broad-brimmed  hat,  the  washwoman,  and  three 
other  men — were  in  the  front  room  of  the  junk  shop, 
a  bank  of  excited  faces  surged  at  the  door.  Beyond 
this,  outside,  the  crowd  was  packed  solid  from  one 
end  of  the  alley  to  the  other.  Out  in  Polk  Street 
tjie  cable  cars  were  nearly  blocked  and  were  bunting 
318 


McTeague 

a  way  slowly  through  the  throng  with  clanging 
bells.  Every  window  had  its  group.  And  as  Trina 
and  the  harness-maker  tried  to  force  the  way  from 
the  door  of  the  junk  shop  the  throng  suddenly 
parted  right  and  left  before  the  passage  of  two  blue- 
coated  policemen  who  clove  a  passage  through  the 
press,  working  their  elbows  energetically.  They 
were  accompanied  by  a  third  man  in  citizen's 
clothes. 

Heise  and  Trina  went  back  into  the  kitchen  with 
the  two  policemen,  the  third  man  in  citizen's 
clothes  cleared  the  intruders  from  the  front  room  of 
the  junk  shop  and  kept  the  crowd  back,  his  arm 
across  the  open  door. 

"Whew!"  whistled  one  of  the  officers  as  they 
came  out  into  the  kitchen,  "cutting  scrape?  By 
George!  somebody's  been  using  his  knife  all  right." 
He  turned  to  the  other  officer.  "  Better  get 
the  wagon.  There's  a  box  on  the  second  corner 
south.  Now,  then,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
Trina  and  the  harness-maker  and  taking  out  his 
note-book  and  pencil,  "  I  want  your  names  and 
addresses." 

It  was  a  day  of  tremendous  excitement  for  the 
entire  street.  Long  after  the  patrol  wagon  had 
driven  away,  the  crowd  remained.  In  fact,  until 
seven  o'clock  that  evening  groups  collected  about 
the  door  of  the  junk  shop,  where  a  policeman  stood 
guard,  asking  all  manner  of  questions,  advancing 
all  manner  of  opinions. 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  get  him?"  asked  Ryer  of 
the  policeman.  A  dozen  necks  craned  forward 
eagerly. 

319 


McTeaguc 

"  Hoh,  we'll  get  him  all  right,  easy  enough,"  an 
swered  the  other,  with  a  grand  air. 

"  What?  What's  that?  What  did  he  say?  "  asked 
the  people  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group.  Those  in 
front  passed  the  answer  back. 

"  He  says  they'll  get  him  all  right,  easy  enough." 

The  group  looked  at  the  policeman  admiringly. 

"  He's  skipped  to  San  Jose." 

Where  the  rumor  started,  and  how,  no  one  knew. 
But  every  one  seemed  persuaded  that  Zerkow  had 
gone  to  San  Jose. 

"  But  what  did  he  kill  her  for?    Was  he  drunk?  " 

"  No,  he  was  crazy,  I  tell  you — crazy  in  the 
head.  Thought  she  was  hiding  some  money  from 
him." 

Frenna  did  a  big  business  all  day  long.  The 
murder  was  the  one  subject  of  conversation.  Little 
parties  were  made  up  in  his  saloon — parties  of  twos 
and  threes — to  go  over  and  have  a  look  at  the  out 
side  of  the  junk  shop.  Heise  was  the  most  im 
portant  man  the  length  and  breadth  of  Polk  Street; 
almost  invariably  he  accompanied  these  parties,  tell 
ing  again  and  again  of  the  part  he  had  played  in  the 
affair. 

"  It  was  about  eleven  o'clock.  I  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  shop,  when  Mrs.  McTeague — you  know, 
the  dentist's  wife — came  running  across  the  street," 
and  so  on  and  so  on. 

The  next  day  came  a  fresh  sensation.  Polk 
Street  read  of  it  in  the  morning  papers.  Towards 
midnight  on  the  day  of  the  murder  Zerkow's  body 
had  been  found  floating  in  the  bay  near  Black  Point. 
No  one  knew  whether  he  had  drowned  himself  or 
320 


McTeague 

fallen  from  one  of  the  wharves.  Clutched  in  both 
his  hands  was  a  sack  full  of  old  and  rusty  pans,  tin 
dishes — fully  a  hundred  of  them — tin  cans,  and  iron 
knives  and  forks,  collected  from  some  dump  heap. 
"  And  all  this,"  exclaimed  Trina,  "  on  account  of 
a  set  of  gold  dishes  that  never  existed." 


321 


XVII. 

One  day,  about  a  fortnight  after  the  coroner's  in 
quest  had  been  held,  and  when  the  excitement  of  the 
terrible  affair  was  calming  down  and  Polk  Street 
beginning  to  resume  its  monotonous  routine,  Old 
Grannis  sat  in  his  clean,  well-kept  little  room,  In  his 
cushioned  armchair,  his  hands  lying  idly  upon  his 
knees.  It  was  evening;  not  quite  time  to  light  the 
lamps.  Old  Grannis  had  drawn  his  chair  close  to 
the  wall — so  close,  in  fact,  that  he  could  hear  Miss 
Baker's  grenadine  brushing  against  the  other  side 
of  the  thin  partition,  at  his  very  elbow,  while  she 
rocked  gently  back  and  forth,  a  cup  of  tea  in  her 
hands. 

Old  Grannis's  occupation  was  gone.  That  morn 
ing  the  book-selling  firm  where  he  had  bought  his 
pamphlets  had  taken  his  little  binding  apparatus 
from  him  to  use  as  a  model.  The  transaction  had 
been  concluded.  Old  Grannis  had  received  kis 
check.  It  was  large  enough,  to  be  srre,  but  when 
all  was  over,  he  returned  to  his  room  and  sat  there 
sad  and  unoccupied,  looking  at  the  -pattern  in  the 
carpet  and  counting  the  heads  or  the  tacks  in  the 
zinc  guard  that  was  fastened  to  the  wall  behind  his 
little  stove.  By  and  by  he  heard  Miss  Baker  mov 
ing  about.  It  was  five  o'clock,  the  time  when  she 
was  accustomed  to  make  her  cup  of  tea  and  "  keep 
company  "  with  him  on  her  side  of  the  partition. 
322 


McTeague 

Old  Grannis  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  wall  near 
where  he  knew  she  was  sitting.  The  minutes 
passed;  side  by  side,  and  separated  by  only  a  couple 
of  inches  of  board,  the  two  old  people  sat  there  to 
gether,  while  the  afternoon  grew  darker. 

But  for  Old  Grannis  all  was  different  that  even 
ing.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do.  His  hands 
lay  idly  in  his  lap.  His  table,  with  its  pile  of  pam 
phlets,  was  in  a  far  corner  of  the  room,  and,  from, 
time  to  time,  stirred  with  an  uncertain  trouble, 
he  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  it  sadly,  reflecting 
that  he  would  never  use  it  again.  The  absence  of 
his  accustomed  work  seemed  to  leave  something  out 
of  his  life.  It  did  not  appear  to  him  that  he  could 
be  the  same  to  Miss  Baker  now;  their  little  habits 
were  disarranged,  their  customs  broken  up.  He 
could  no  longer  fancy  himself  so  near  to  her.  They 
would  drift  apart  now,  and  she  would  no  longer 
make  herself  a  cup  of  tea  and  "  keep  company  "  with 
him  when  she  knew  that  he  would  never  again  sit 
before  his  table  binding  uncut  pamphlets.  He  had 
sold  his  happiness  for  money;  he  had  bartered  all 
his  tardy  romance  for  some  miserable  bank-notes. 
He  had  not  foreseen  that  it  would  be  like  this.  A 
vast  regret  welled  up  within  him.  What  was  that 
on  the  back  of  his  hand?  He  wiped  it  dry  with  his 
ancient  silk  handkerchief. 

Old  Grannis  leant  his  face  in  his  hands.  Not 
only  did  an  inexplicable  regret  stir  within  him,  but  a 
certain  great  tenderness  came  upon  him.  The  tears 
that  swam  in  his  faded  blue  eyes  were  not  altogether 
those  of  unhappiness.  No,  this  long-delayed  affec 
tion  that  had  come  upon  him  in  his  later  years  filled 
323 


McTeague 

him  with  a  joy  for  which  tears  seemed  to  be  the 
natural  expression.  For  thirty  years  his  eyes  had 
not  been  wet,  but  to-night  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
young  again.  He  had  never  loved  before,  and  there 
was  still  a  part  of  him  that  was  only  twenty  years  of 
age.  He  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  profoundly 
sad  or  deeply  happy;  but  he  was  not  ashamed  of  the 
tears  that  brought  the  smart  to  his  eyes  and  the 
ache  to  his  throat.  He  did  not. hear  the  timid  rap 
ping  on  his  door,  and  it  was  not  until  the  door  itself 
opened  that  he  looked  up  quickly  and  saw  the  little 
retired  dressmaker  standing  on  the  threshold,  car 
rying  a  cup  of  tea  on  a  tiny  Japanese  tray.  She  held 
it  toward  him. 

"  I  was  making  some  tea,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  have  a  cup." 

Never  after  could  the  little  dressmaker  under 
stand  how  she  had  brought  herself  to  do  this  thing. 
One  moment  she  had  been  sitting  quietly  on  her 
side  of  the  partition,  stirring  her  cup  of  tea  with  one 
of  her  Gorham  spoons.  She  was  quiet,  she  was 
peaceful.  The  evening  was  closing  down  tranquilly. 
Her  room  was  the  picture  of  calmness  and  order. 
The  geraniums  blooming  in  the  starch  boxes  in  the 
window,  the  aged  goldfish  occasionally  turning  his 
iridescent  flank  to  catch  a  sudden  glow  of  the  set 
ting  sun.  The  next  moment  she  had  been  all  trepi 
dation.  It  seemed  to  her  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  to  make  a  steaming  cup  of  tea  and  carry 
it  in  to  Old  Grannis  next  door.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  he  was  wanting  her,  that  she  ought  to  go  to 
him.  With  the  brusque  resolve  and  intrepidity  that 
sometimes  seizes  upon  very  timid  people — the  cour- 
324 


McTeague 

age  of  the  coward  greater  than  all  others — she  had 
presented  herself  at  the  old  Englishman's  half-open 
door,  and,  when  he  had  not  heeded  her  knock,  had 
pushed  it  open,  and  at  last,  after  all  these  years, 
stood  upon  the  threshold  of  his  room.  She  had 
found  courage  enough  to  explain  her  intrusion. 

"  I  was  making  some  tea,  and  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  have  a  cup." 

Old  Grannis  dropped  his  hands  upon  either  arm 
of  his  chair,  and,  leaning  forward  a  little,  looked  at 
her  blankly.  He  did  not  speak. 

The  retired  dressmaker's  courage  had  carried  her 
thus  far;  now  it  deserted  her  as  abruptly  as  it  had 
come.  Her  cheeks  became  scarlet;  her  funny  little 
false  curls  trembled  with  her  agitation.  What  she 
had  done  seemed  to  her  indecorous  beyond  expres 
sion.  It  was  an  enormity.  Fancy,  she  had  gone 
into  his  room,  into  his  room — Mister  Grannis's  room. 
She  had  done  this — she  who  could  not  pass  him 
on  the  stairs  without  a  qualm.  What  to  do  she 
did  not  know.  She  stood,  a  fixture,  on  the  thresh 
old  of  his  room,  without  even  resolution  enough  to 
beat  a  retreat.  Helplessly,  and  with  a  little  quaver 
in  her  voice,  she  repeated  obstinately: 

"  I  was  making  some  tea,  and  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  have  a  cup  of  tea."  Her  agitation 
betrayed  itself  in  the  repetition  of  the  word.  She 
felt  that  she  could  not  hold  the  tray  out  another 
instant.  Already  she  was  trembling  so  that  half 
the  tea  was  spilled. 

Old  Grannis  still  kept  silence,  still  bending  for 
ward,  with  wide  eyes,  his  hands  gripping  the  arms  of 
his  chair. 

325 


McTeague 

Then  with  the  tea-tray  still  held  straight  before 
her,  the  little  dressmaker  exclaimed  tearfully: 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean — I  didn't  mean — I  didn't 
know  it  would  seem  like  this.  I  only  meant  to  be 
kind  and  bring  you  some  tea;  and  now  it  seems  so 
improper.  I — I — I'm  so  ashamed!  I  don't  know 
what  you  will  think  of  me.  I — "  she  caught  her 
breath — "  improper —  "  she  managed  to  exclaim, 
"  unlady-like — you  can  never  think  well  of  me — I'll 
go.  I'll  go."  She  turned  about. 

"  Stop,"  cried  Old  Grannis,  finding  his  voice  at 
last.  Miss  Baker  paused,  looking  at  him  over  her 
shoulder,  her  eyes  very  wide  open,  blinking  through 
her  tears,  for  all  the  world  like  a  frightened  child. 

"  Stop,"  exclaimed  the  old  Englishman,  rising  to 
his  feet.  "  I  didn't  know  it  was  you  at  first.  I 
hadn't  dreamed — I  couldn't  believe  you  would  be  so 
good,  so  kind  to  me.  Oh,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden 
sharp  breath,  "  oh,  you  are  kind.  I — I — you  have 
— have  made  me  very  happy." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Miss  Baker,  ready  to  sob. 
"  It  was  unlady-like.  You  will — you  must  think  ill 
of  me."  She  stood  in  the  hall.  The  tears  were 
running  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  had  no  free  hand 
to  dry  them. 

"  Let  me — I'll  take  the  tray  from  you,"  cried  Old 
Grannis,  coming  forward.  A  tremulous  joy  came 
upon  him.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  happy. 
At  last  it  had  come — come  when  he  had  least  ex 
pected  it.  That  which  he  had  longed  for  and  hoped 
for  through  so  many  years,  behold,  it  was  come  to 
night.  He  felt  his  awkwardness  leaving  him.  He 
was  almost  certain  that  the  little  dressmaker  loved 
326 


McTeague 

him,  and  the  thought  gave  him  boldness.  He  came 
toward  her  and  took  the  tray  from  her  hands,  and, 
turning  back  into  the  room  with  it,  made  as  if  to  set 
it  upon  his  table.  But  the  piles  of  his  pamphlets 
were  in  the  way.  Both  of  his  hands  were  occupied 
with  the  tray;  he  could  not  make  a  place  for  it  on  the 
table.  He  stood  for  a  moment  uncertain,  his  em 
barrassment  returning. 

"  Oh,  won't  you — won't  you  please — "  He 
turned  his  head,  looking  appealingly  at  the  little  old 
dressmaker.  • 

"  Wait,  I'll  help  you,'1  she  said.  She  came  into 
the  room,  up  to  the  table,  and  moved  the  pamphlets 
to  one  side. 

"  Thanks,  thanks,"  murmurmed  Old  Grannis, 
setting  down  the  tray. 

"  Now — now — now  I  will  go  back,"  she  ex 
claimed,  hurriedly. 

"  No — no,"  returned  the  old  Englishman.  "  Don't 
go,  don't  go.  I've  been  so  lonely  to-night — and 
last  night  too — all  this  year — all  my  life,"  he  sud 
denly  cried. 

"  I — I — I've  forgotten  the  sugar." 

"  But  I  never  take  sugar  in  my  tea." 

"  But  it's  rather  cold,  and  I've  spilled  it — almost 
all  of  it." 

"  I'll  drink  it  from  the  saucer."  Old  Grannis  had 
drawn  up  his  armchair  for  her. 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't.  This  is — this  is  so — You  must 
think  ill  of  me."  Suddenly  she  sat  down,  and  rest 
ing  her  elbows  on  the  table,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"Think  ill  of  you?"  cried  Old  Grannis,  "think 
327 


McTeague 

ill  of  you?  Why,  you  don't  know — you  have  no 
idea — all  these  years — living  so  close  to  you,  I — 
I — "  he  paused  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
the  beating  of  his  heart  was  choking  him. 

"  I  thought  you  were  binding  your  books  to 
night,"  said  Miss  Baker,  suddenly,  "  and  you  looked 
tired.  I  thought  you  looked  tired  when  I  last  saw 
you,  and  a  cup  of  tea,  you  know,  it — that — that  does 
you  so  much  good  when  you're  tired.  But  you 
weren't  binding  books." 

"  No,  no,"  returned  Old  Grannis,  drawing  up  a 
chair  and  sitting  down.  "  No,  I — the  fact  is,  I've 
sold  my  apparatus;  a  firm  of  booksellers  has  bought 
the  rights  of  it." 

"  And  aren't  you  going  to  bind  books  any 
more?  "  exclaimed  the  little  dressmaker,  a  shade  of 
disappointment  in  her  manner.  "  I  thought  you 
always  did  about  four  o'clock.  I  used  to  hear  you 
when  I  was  making  tea." 

It  hardly  seemed  possible  to  Miss  Baker  that  she 
was  actually  talking  to  Old  Grannis,  that  the  two 
were  really  chatting  together,  face  to  face,  and  with 
out  the  dreadful  embarrassment  that  used  to  over 
whelm  them  both  when  they  met  on  the  stairs.  She 
had  often  dreamed  of  this,  but  had  always  put  if  off 
to  some  far-distant  day.  It  was  to  come  gradually, 
little  by  little,  instead  of,  as  now,  abruptly  and  with 
no  preparation.  That  she  should  permit  herself  the 
indiscretion  of  actually  intruding  herself  into  his 
room  had  never  so  much  as  occurred  to  her.  Yet 
here  she  was,  in  his  room,  and  they  were  talking  to 
gether,  and  little  by  little  her  embarrassment  was 
wearing  away. 

328 


McTeague 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  always  heard  you  when  you  were 
making  tea,"  returned  the  old  Englishman;  "  I 
heard  the  tea  things.  Then  I  used  to  draw  my 
chair  and  my  work-table  close  to  the  wall  on  my 
side,  and  sit  there  and  work  while  you  drank  your 
tea  just  on  the  other  side;  and  I  used  to  feel  very 
near  to  you  then.  I  used  to  pass  the  whole  evening 
that  way." 

"  And,  yes — yes — I  did  too,"  she  answered.  "  I 
used  to  make  tea  just  at  that  time  and  sit  there  for 
a  whole  hour." 

"  And  didn't  you  sit  close  to  the  partition  on  your 
side?  Sometimes  I  was  sure  of  it.  I  could  even 
fancy  that  I  could  hear  your  dress  brushing  against 
the  wall-paper  close  beside  me.  Didn't  you  sit 
close  to  the  partition?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know  where  I  sat." 

Old  Grannis  shyly  put  out  his  hand  and  took  hers 
as  it  lay  upon  her  lap. 

"  Didn't  you  sit  close  to  the  partition  on  your 
side?  "  he  insisted. 

"  No — I  don't  know — perhaps — sometimes.  Oh, 
yes,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  gasp,  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  often  did." 

Then  Old  Grannis  put  his  arm  about  her,  and 
kissed  her  faded  cheek,  that  flushed  to  pink  upon 
the  instant. 

After  that  they  spoke  but  little.  The  day  lapsed 
slowly  into  twilight,  and  the  two  old  people  sat  there 
in  the  gray  evening,  quietly,  quietly,  their  hands  in 
each  other's  hands,  "  keeping  company,"  but  now 
with  nothing  to  separate  them.  It  had  come  at  last. 
After  all  these  years  they  were  together;  they  under- 
329 


McTeague 

stood  each  other.  They  stood  at  length  in  a  little 
Elysium  of  their  own  creating.  They  walked  hand 
in  hand  in  a  delicious  garden  where  it  was  always 
autumn.  Par  from  the  world  and  together  they 
entered  upon  the  long  retarded  romance  of  their 
commonplace  and  uneventful  lives. 


330 


XVIII. 

That  same  night  McTeague  was  awakened  by  a 
shrill  scream,  and  woke  to  find  Trina's  arms  around 
his  neck.  She  was  trembling  so  that  the  bed-springs 
creaked. 

"  Huh?  "  cried  the  dentist,  sitting  up  in  bed,  rais 
ing  his  clinched  fists.  "Huh?  What?  What? 
What  is  it?  What  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  Mac,"  gasped  his  wife,  "  I  had  such  an 
awful  dream.  I  dreamed  about  Maria.  I  thought 
she  was  chasing  me,  and  I  couldn't  run,  and  her 
throat  was — Oh,  she  was  all  covered  with  blood. 
Oh-h,  I  am  so  frightened!  " 

Trina  had  borne  up  very  well  for  the  first  day 
or  so  after  the  affair,  and  had  given  her  testimony 
to  the  coroner  with  far  greater  calmness  than  Heise. 
It  was  only  a  week  later  that  the  horror  of  the  thing 
came  upon  her  again.  She  was  so  nervous  that  she 
hardly  dared  to  be  alone  in  the  daytime,  and  almost 
every  night  woke  with  a  cry  of  terror,  trembling 
with  the  recollection  of  some  dreadful  nightmare. 
The  dentist  was  irritated  beyond  all  expression  by 
her  nervousness,  and  especially  was  he  exasperated 
when  her  cries  woke  him  suddenly  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  He  would  sit  up  in  bed,  rolling  his  eyes 
wildly,  throwing  out  his  huge  fists — at  what,  he  did 
not  know — exclaiming,  "  What — what — "  bewil 
dered  and  hopelessly  confused.  Then  when  he  real- 
331 


McTeague 

ized  that  it  was  only  Trina,  his  anger  kindled 
abruptly. 

"  Oh,  you  and  your  dreams!  You  go  to  sleep, 
or  I'll  give  you  a  dressing  down."  Sometimes  he 
would  hit  her  a  great  thwack  with  his  open  palm,  or 
catch  her  hand  and  bite  the  tips  of  her  ringers.  Trina 
would  lie  awake  for  hours  afterward,  crying  softly 
to  herself.  Then,  by  and  by,  "  Mac,"  she  would  say 
timidly. 

"Huh?" 

"  Mac,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"Huh?    What?     Go  to  sleep." 

"  Don't  you  love  me  any  more,  Mac?  " 

"  Oh,  go  to  sleep.     Don't  bother  me." 

"  Well,  do  you  love  me,  Mac?  " 

"  /  guess  so." 

"  Oh,  Mac,  I've  only  you  now,  and  if  you  don't 
love  me,  what  is  going  to  become  of  me?" 

"  Shut  up,  an'  let  me  go  to  sleep." 

"  Well,  just  tell  me  that  you  love  me." 

The  dentist  would  turn  abruptly  away  from  her, 
burying  his  big  blond  head  in  the  pillow,  and  cover 
ing  up  his  ears  with  the  blankets.  Then  Trina 
would  sob  herself  to  sleep. 

The  dentist  had  long  since  given  up  looking  for 
a  job.  Between  breakfast  and  supper  time  Trina 
saw  but  little  of  him.  Once  the  morning  meal  over, 
McTeague  bestirred  himself,  put  on  his  cap — he  had 
given  up  wearing  even  a  hat  since  his  wife  had  made 
him  sell  his  silk  hat — and  went  out.  He  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  taking  long  and  solitary  walks  be 
yond  the  suburbs  of  the  city.  Sometimes  it  was  to 
the  Cliff  House,  occasionally  to  the  Park  (where  he 
332 


McTeague 

would  sit  on  the  sun-warmed  benches,  smoking  his 
pipe  and  reading  ragged  ends  of  old  newspapers), 
but  more  often  it  was  to  the  Presidio  Reservation. 
McTeague  would  walk  out  to  the  end  of  the  Union 
Street  car  line,  entering  the  Reservation  at  the 
terminus,  then  he  would  work  down  to  the  shore 
of  the  bay,  follow  the  shore  line  to  the  Old  Fort  at 
the  Golden  Gate,  and,  turning  the  Point  here,  come 
out  suddenly  upon  the  full  sweep  of  the  Pacific. 
Then  he  would  follow  the  beach  down  to  a  certain 
point  of  rocks  that  he  knew.  Here  he  would  turn 
inland,  climbing  the  bluffs  to  a  rolling  grassy  down 
sown  with  blue  iris  and  a  yellow  flower  that  he  did 
not  know  the  name  of.  On  the  far  side  of  this  down 
was  a  broad,  well-kept  road.  McTeague  would 
keep  to  this  road  until  he  reached  the  city  again  by 
the  way  of  the  Sacramento  Street  car  line.  The 
dentist  loved  these  walks.  He  liked  to  be  alone. 
He  liked  the  solitude  of  the  tremendous,  tumbling 
ocean;  the  fresh,  windy  downs;  he  liked  to  feel  the 
gusty  Trades  flogging  his  face,  and  he  would  re 
main  for  hours  watching  the  roll  and  plunge  of  the 
breakers  with  the  silent,  unreasoned  enjoyment  of 
a  child.  All  at  once  he  developed  a  passion  for 
fishing.  He  would  sit  all  day  nearly  motionless 
upon  a  point  of  rocks,  his  fish-line  between  his 
fingers,  happy  if  he  caught  three  perch  in  twelve 
hours.  At  noon  he  would  retire  to  a  bit  of  level  turf 
around  an  angle  of  the  shore  and  cook  his  fish,  eat 
ing  them  without  salt  or  knife  or  fork.  He  thrust  a 
pointed  stick  down  the  mouth  of  the  perch,  and 
turned  it  slowly  over  the  blaze.  When  the  grease 
stopped  dripping,  he  knew  that  it  was  done,  and 

333 


McTeague 

would  devour  it  slowly  and  with  tremendous  relish, 
picking  the  bones  clean,  eating  even  the  head.  He 
remembered  how  often  he  used  to  do  this  sort  of 
thing  when  he  was  a  boy  in  the  mountains  of  Placer 
County,  before  he  became  a  car-boy  at  the  mine. 
The  dentist  enjoyed  himself  hugely  during  these 
days.  The  instincts  of  the  old-time  miner  were 
returning.  In  the  stress  of  his  misfortune  Mc 
Teague  was  lapsing  back  to  his  early  estate. 

One  evening  as  he  reached  home  after  such  a 
tramp,  he  was  surprised  to  find  Trina  standing  in 
front  of  what  had  been  Zerkow's  house,  looking  at 
it  thoughtfully,  her  finger  on  her  lips. 

"  What  you  doing  here?  "  growled  the  dentist  as 
he  came  up.  There  was  a  "  Rooms-to-let  "  sign  on 
the  street  door  of  the  house. 

"  Now  we've  found  a  place  to  move  to,"  ex 
claimed  Trina. 

"What?"  cried  McTeague.  "There,  in  that 
dirty  house,  where  you  found  Maria?  " 

"  I  can't  afford  that  room  in  the  flat  any  more, 
now  that  you  can't  get  any  work  to  do." 

"  But  there's  where  Zerkow  killed  Maria — the 
very  house — an'  you  wake  up  an'  squeal  in  the  night 
just  thinking  of  it." 

"  I  know.  I  know  it  will  be  bad  at  first,  but  I'll 
get  used  to  it,  an'  it's  just  half  again  as  cheap  as 
where  we  are  now.  I  was  looking  at  a  room;  we 
can  have  it  dirt  cheap.  It's  a  back  room  over  the 
kitchen.  A  German  family  are  going  to  take  the 
front  part  of  the  house  and  sublet  the  rest.  I'm 
going  to  take  it.  It'll  be  money  in  my  pocket." 

"  But  it  won't  be  any  in  mine,"  vociferated  the 
334 


McTeague 

dentist,  angrily.  "  I'll  have  to  live  in  that  dirty  rat 
hole  just  so's  you  can  save  money.  7  ain't  any  the 
better  off  for  it." 

"  Find  work  to  do,  and  then  we'll  talk,"  declared 
Trina.  "  I'm  going  to  save  up  some  money  against 
a  rainy  day;  and  if  I  can  save  more  by  living  here 
I'm  going  to  do  it,  even  if  it  is  the  house  Maria  was 
killed  in.  I  don't  care." 

"  All  right,"  said  McTeague,  and  did  not  make 
any  further  protest.  His  wife  looked  at  him  sur 
prised.  She  could  not  understand  this  sudden  ac 
quiescence.  Perhaps  McTeague  was  so  much  away 
from  home  of  late  that  he  had  ceased  to  care  where 
or  how  he  lived.  But  this  sudden  change  troubled 
her  a  little  for  all  that. 

The  next  day  the  McTeagues  moved  for  a  second 
time.  It  did  not  take  them  long.  They  were 
obliged  to  buy  the  bed  from  the  landlady,  a  circum 
stance  which  nearly  broke  Trina's  heart;  and  this 
bed,  a  couple  of  chairs,  Trina's  trunk,  an  ornament 
or  two,  the  oil  stove,  and  some  plates  and  kitchen 
ware  were  all  that  they  could  call  their  own  now; 
and  this  back  room  in  that  wretched  house  with  its 
grisly  memories,  the  one  window  looking  out  into  a 
grimy  maze  of  back  yards  and  broken  sheds,  was 
what  they  now  knew  as  their  home. 

The  McTeagues  now  began  to  sink  rapidly  lower 
and  lower.  They  became  accustomed  to  their  sur 
roundings.  Worst  of  all,  Trina  lost  her  pretty  ways 
and  her  good  looks.  The  combined  effects  of  hard 
work,  avarice,  poor  food,  and  her  husband's  brutali 
ties  told  on  her  swiftly.  Her  charming  little  figure 
grew  coarse,  stunted,  and  dumpy.  She  who  had 
335 


McTeague 

once  been  of  a  cat-like  neatness,  now  slovened  all 
day  about  the  room  in  a  dirty  flannel  wrapper,  her 
slippers  clap-clapping  after  her  as  she  walked.  At 
last  she  even  neglected  her  hair,  the  wonderful 
swarthy  tiara,  the  coiffure  of  a  queen,  that  shaded 
her  little  pale  forehead.  In  the  morning  she  braided 
it  before  it  was  half  combed,  and  piled  and  coiled  it 
about  her  head  in  haphazard  fashion.  It  came  down 
half  a  dozen  times  a  day;  by  evening  it  was  an  un 
kempt,  tangled  mass,  a  veritable  rat's  nest. 

Ah,  no,  it  was  not  very  gay,  that  life  of  hers,  when 
one  had  to  rustle  for  two,  cook  and  work  and  wash, 
to  say  nothing  of  paying  the  rent.  What  odds  was 
it  if  she  was  slatternly,  dirty,  coarse?  Was  there 
time  to  make  herself  look  otherwise,  and  who  was 
there  to  be  pleased  when  she  was  all  prinked  out? 
Surely  not  a  great  brute  of  a  husband  who  bit  you 
like  a  dog,  and  kicked  and  pounded  you  as  though 
you  were  made  of  iron.  Ah,  no,  better  let  things 
go,  and  take  it  as  easy  as  you  could.  Hump  your 
back,  and  it  was  soonest  over. 

The  one  room  grew  abominably  dirty,  reeking 
with  the  odors  of  cooking  and  of  "  non-poisonous  " 
paint.  The  bed  was  not  made  until  late  in  the  after 
noon,  sometimes  not  at  all.  Dirty,  unwashed  crock 
ery,  greasy  knives,  sodden  fragments  of  yesterday's 
meals  cluttered  the  table,  while  in  one  corner  was 
the  heap  of  evil-smelling,  dirty  linen.  Cockroaches 
appeared  in  the  crevices  of  the  woodwork,  the  wall 
paper  bulged  from  the  damp  walls  and  began  to 
peel.  Trina  had  long  ago  ceased  to  dust  or  to  wipe 
the  furniture  with  a  bit  of  rag.  The  grime  grew 
thick  upon  the  window  panes  and  in  the  corners  of 
336 


McTeague 

the  room.  All  the  filth  of  the  alley  invaded  their 
quarters  like  a  rising  muddy  tide. 

Between  the  windows,  however,  the  faded  photo 
graph  of  the  couple  in  their  wedding  finery  looked 
down  upon  the  wretchedness,  Trina  still  holding  her 
set  bouquet  straight  before  her,  McTeague  standing 
at  her  side,  his  left  foot  forward,  in  the  attitude  of  a 
Secretary  of  State;  while  near  by  hung  the  canary, 
the  one  thing  the  dentist  clung  to  obstinately,  piping 
and  chittering  all  day  in  its  little  gilt  prison. 

And  the  tooth,  the  gigantic  golden  molar  of 
French  gilt,  enormous  and  ungainly,  sprawled  its 
branching  prongs  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  by 
the  footboard  of  the  bed.  The  McTeague's  had 
come  to  use  it  as  a  sort  of  substitute  for  a  table. 
After  breakfast  and  supper  Trina  piled  the  plates 
and  greasy  dishes  upon  it  to  have  them  out  of  the 
way. 

One  afternoon  the  Other  Dentist,  McTeague's 
old-time  rival,  the  wearer  of  marvellous  waistcoats, 
was  surprised  out  of  all  countenance  to  receive  a 
visit  from  McTeague.  The  Other  Dentist  was  in  his 
operating  room  at  the  time,  at  work  upon  a  plaster- 
of-paris  mould.  To  his  call  of  "  Come  right  in. 
Don't  you  see  the  sign,  '  Enter  without  knock 
ing  '  ?  "  McTeague  came  in.  He  noted  at  once 
how  airy  and  cheerful  was  the  room.  A  little  fire 
coughed  and  tittered  on  the  hearth,  a  brindled  grey 
hound  sat  on  his  haunches  watching  it  intently,  a 
great  mirror  over  the  mantle  offered  to  view  an 
array  of  actresses'  pictures  thrust  between  the  glass 
and  the  frame,  and  a  big  bunch  of  freshly-cut 
violets  stood  in  a  glass  bowl  on  the  polished  cherry- 

22  337 


McTeague 

wood  table.  The  Other  Dentist  came  forward 
briskly,  exclaiming  cheerfully: 

"  Oh,  Doctor — Mister  McTeague,  how  do?  how 
do?" 

The  fellow  was  actually  wearing  a  velvet  smok 
ing  jacket.  A  cigarette  was  between  his  lips;  his 
patent  leather  boots  reflected  the  firelight.  Mc 
Teague  wore  a  black  surah  neglige  shirt  without 
a  cravat;  huge  buckled  brogans,  hob-nailed,  gross, 
encased  his  feet;  the  hems  of  his  trousers  were  spot 
ted  with  mud;  his  coat  was  frayed  at  the  sleeves  and 
a  button  was  gone.  In  three  days  he  had  not 
shaved;  his  shock  of  heavy  blond  hair  escaped  from 
beneath  the  visor  of  his  woollen  cap  and  hung  low 
over  his  forehead.  He  stood  with  awkward,  shift 
ing  feet  and  uncertain  eyes  before  this  dapper  young 
fellow  who  reeked  of  the  barber  shop,  and  whom 
he  had  once  ordered  from  his  rooms. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  this  morning,  Mis 
ter  McTeague?  Something  wrong  with  the  teeth, 
eh?" 

"  No,  no."  McTeague,  floundering  in  the  diffi 
culties  of  his  speech,  forgot  the  carefully  rehearsed 
words  with  which  he  had  intended  to  begin  this 
interview. 

"  I  want  to  sell  you  my  sign,"  he  said,  stupidly. 
"  That  big  tooth  of  French  gilt — you  know — that 
you  made  an  offer  for  once." 

"  Oh,  /  don't  want  that  now,"  said  the  other  lof 
tily.  "  I  prefer  a  little  quiet  signboard,  nothing  pre 
tentious — just  the  name,  and  "  Dentist "  after  it. 
These  big  signs  are  vulgar.  No,  I  don't  want  it." 

McTeague  remained,  looking  about  on  the  floor, 
338 


McTeague 

horribly  embarrassed,  not  knowing  whether  to  go 
or  to  stay. 

"  But  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Other  Dentist,  re 
flectively.  "  If  it  will  help  you  out  any — I  guess 
you're  pretty  hard  up — I'll — well,  I  tell  you  what — 
I'll  give  you  five  dollars  for  it." 

"  All  right,  all  right." 

On  the  following  Thursday  morning  McTeague 
woke  to  hear  the  eaves  dripping  and  the  prolonged 
rattle  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof. 

"  Raining,"  he  growled,  in  deep  disgust,  sitting 
up  in  bed,  and  winking  at  the  blurred  window. 

"  It's  been  raining  all  night,"  said  Trina.  She 
was  already  up  and  dressed,  and  was  cooking  break 
fast  on  the  oil  stove. 

McTeague  dressed  himself,  grumbling,  "  Well, 
I'll  go,  anyhow.  The  fish  will  bite  all  the  better  for 
the  rain." 

"  Look  here,  Mac,"  said  Trina,  slicing  a  bit  of 
bacon  as  thinly  as  she  could.  "  Look  here,  why 
don't  you  bring  some  of  your  fish  home  sometime?  " 

"  Huh!  "  snorted  the  dentist,  "  so's  we  could  have 
'em  for  breakfast.  Might  save  you  a  nickel,  might 
n't  it?" 

"  Well,  and  if  it  did!  Or  you  might  fish  for  the 
market.  The  fishman  across  the  street  would  buy 
'em  of  you." 

"  Shut  up!  "  exclaimed  the  dentist,  and  Trina 
obediently  subsided. 

"  Look  here,"  continued  her  husband,  fumbling 
in  his  trousers  pocket  and  bringing  out  a  dollar, 
"  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  coffee  and  bacon  and  mashed 
potatoes.  Go  over  to  the  market  and  get  some 

339 


McTeague 

kind  of  meat  for  breakfast.  Get  a  steak,  or  chops, 
or  something." 

"  Why,  Mac,  that's  a  whole  dollar,  and  he  only 
gave  you  five  for  your  sign.  We  can't  afford  it. 
Sure,  Mac.  Let  me  put  that  money  away  against 
a  rainy  day.  You're  just  as  well  off  without  meat 
for  breakfast." 

"  You  do  as  I  tell  you.  Get  some  steak,  or  chops, 
or  something." 

"  Please,  Mac,  dear." 

"  Go  on,  now.  I'll  bite  your  fingers  again  pretty 
soon." 

"  But " 

The  dentist  took  a  step  towards  her,  snatching  at 
her  hand. 

"  All  right,  I'll  go,"  cried  Trina,  wincing  and 
shrinking.  "  I'll  go." 

She  did  not  get  the  chops  at  the  big  market,  how 
ever.  Instead,  she  hurried  to  a  cheaper  butcher 
shop  on  a  side  street  two  blocks  away,  and  bought 
fifteen  cents'  worth  of  chops  from  a  side  of  mutton 
some  two  or  three  days  old.  She  was  gone  some 
little  time. 

"  Give  me  the  change,"  exclaimed  the  dentist  as 
soon  as  she  returned.  Trina  handed  him  a  quarter; 
and  when  McTeague  was  about  to  protest,  broke  in 
upon  him  with  a  rapid  stream  of  talk  that  confused 
him  upon  the  instant.  But  for  that  matter,  it  was 
never  difficult  for  Trina  to  deceive  the  dentist.  He 
never  went  to  the  bottom  of  things.  lie  would 
have  believed  her  if  she  had  told  him  the  chops  had 
cost  a  dollar. 

"  There's  sixty  cents  saved,  anyhow,"  thought 
340 


McTeague 

Trina,  as  she  clutched  the  money  in  her  pocket  to 
keep  it  from  rattling. 

Trina  cooked  the  chops,  and  they  breakfasted  in 
silence. 

"  Now,"  said  McTeague  as  he  rose,  wiping  the 
coffee  from  his  thick  mustache  with  the  hollow  of 
his  palm,  "  now  I'm  going  fishing,  rain  or  no  rain. 
I'm  going  to  be  gone  all  day." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  door,  his  fish-line 
in  his  hand,  swinging  the  heavy  sinker  back  and 
forth.  He  looked  at  Trina  as  she  cleared  away  the 
breakfast  things. 

"  So  long,"  said  he,  nodding  his  huge  square-cut 
head.  This  amiability  in  the  matter  of  leave  tak 
ing  was  umisual.  Trina  put  the  dishes  down  and 
came  up  to  nu^  her  little  chin,  once  so  adorable,  in 
the  air:  ^R> 

"  Kiss  me  g^d-by,  Mac,"  she  said,  putting  her 
arms  around  hi!  neck.  "  You  do  love  me  a  little 
yet,  don't  you,  Mac?  We'll  be  happy  again  some 
day.  This  is  hard  times  now,  but  we'll  pull  out. 
You'll  find  something  to  do  pretty  soon." 

"  /  guess  so,"  growled  McTeague,  allowing  her 
to  kiss  him. 

The  canary  was  stirring  nimbly  in  its  cage,  and 
just  now  broke  out  into  a  shrill  trilling,  its  little 
throat  bulging  and  quivering.  The  dentist  stared 
at  it.  "  Say,"  he  remarked  slowly,  "  I  think  I'll  take 
that  bird  of  mine  along." 

"Sell  it?"  inquired  Trina. 

"  Yes,  yes,  sell  it." 

"  Well,  you  are  coming  to  your  senses  at  last," 
answered  Trina,  approvingly.  "  But  don't  you  let 
34i 


McTeague 

the  bird-store  man  cheat  you.  That's  a  good 
songster;  and  with  the  cage,  you  ought  to  make  him 
give  you  five  dollars.  You  stick  out  for  that  at  first, 
anyhow." 

McTeague  unhooked  the  cage  and  carefully 
wrapped  it  in  an  old  newspaper,  remarking,  "  He 
might  get  cold.  Well,  so  long,"  he  repeated,  "  so 
long." 

"  Good-by,  Mac." 

When  he  was  gone,  Trina  took  the  sixty  cents 
she  had  stolen  from  him  out  of  her  pocket  and 
recounted  it.  "  It's  sixty  cents,  all  right,"  she  said 
proudly.  "  But  I  do  believe  that  dime  is  too 
smooth."  She  looked  at  it  critically.  The^clock 
on  the  power-house  of  the  Sutter  StreejAable|Btruck 
eight.  "  Eight  o'clock  already,"  sr^Mixclainied.  "  I 
must  get  to  work."  She  clean^Pthe  breakfast 
things  from  the  table,  and  drawinjBp  her  chair  and 
her  workbox  began  painting  the -'sits  of  Noah's  ark 
animals  she  had  whittled  the  /lay  before.  She 
worked  steadily  all  the  morning.  At  noon  she 
lunched,  warming  over  the  coffee  left  from  break 
fast,  and  frying  a  couple  of  satfsages.  By  one  she 
was  bending  over  her  table  again.  Her  fingers — 
some  of  them  lacerated  by  McTeague's  teeth — flew, 
and  the  little  pile  of  cheap  toys  in  the  basket,  at  her 
elbow  grew  steadily. 

"  Where  do  all  the  toys  go  to?"  she  murmured. 
"  The  thousands  and  thousands  of  these  Noah's 
arks  that  I  have  made — horses  and  chickens  and 
elephants — and  always  there  never  seems  to  be 
enough.  It's  a  good  thing  for  me  that  children 
break  their  things,  and  that  they  all  have  to  have 
342 


McTeague 

birthdays  and  Christmases."  She  dipped  her  brush 
into  a  pot  of  Vandyke  brown  and  painted  one  of  the 
whittled  toy  horses  in  two  strokes.  Then  a  touch  of 
ivory  black  with  a  small  flat  brush  created  the  tail 
and  mane,  and  dots  of  Chinese  white  made  the  eyes. 
The  turpentine  in  the  paint  dried  it  almost  imme 
diately,  and  she  tossed  the  completed  little  horse 
into  the  basket. 

At  six  o'clock  the  dentist  had  not  returned.  Trina 
waited  until  seven,  and  then  put  her  work  away, 
and  ate  her  supper  alone. 

"  I  wonder  what's  keeping  Mac,"  she  exclaimed 
as  the  clock  from  the  power-house  on  Sutter  Street 
struck  half-past  seven.  "  I  know  he's  drinking 
somewhere,"  she  cried,  apprehensively.  "  He  had 
the  money  fron^his  sign  with  him." 

At  eight  o'cl«v  she  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head 
and  went  over  ID  the  harness  shop.  If  anybody 
would  know  where  McTeague  was  it  would  be 
Heise.  But  the  harness-maker  had  seen  nothing 
of  him  since  the  day  before. 

"  He  was  in  here  yesterday  afternoon,  and  we 
had  a  drink  or  two  at  Frenna's.  Maybe  he's  been 
in  there  to-day." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  go  in  and  see? "  said  Trina. 
"  Mac  always  came  home  to  his  supper — he  never 
likes  to  miss  his  meals — and  I'm  getting  frightened 
about  him." 

Heise  went  into  the  barroom  next  door,  and  re 
turned  with  no  definite  news.  Frenna  had  not  seen 
the  dentist  since  he  had  come  in  with  the  harness- 
maker  the  previous  afternoon.  Trina  even  humbled 
herself  to  ask  of  the  Ryers — with  whom  they  had 

343 


McTeague 

quarrelled — if  they  knew  anything  of  the  dentist's 
whereabouts,  but  received  a  contemptuous  nega 
tive. 

"  Maybe  he's  come  in  while  I've  been  out,"  said 
Trina  to  herself.  She  went  down  Polk  Street 
again,  going  towards  the  flat.  The  rain  had 
stopped,  but  the  sidewalks  were  still  glistening.  The 
cable  cars  trundled  by,  loaded  with  theatregoers. 
The  barbers  were  just  closing  their  shops.  The 
candy  store  on  the  corner  was  brilliantly  lighted 
and  was  filling  up,  while  the  green  and  yellow  lamps 
from  the  drug  store  directly  opposite  threw  kaleido 
scopic  reflections  deep  down  into  the  shining  sur 
face  of  the  asphalt.  A  band  of  Salvationists  began 
to  play  and  pray  in  front  of  Frenna's  saloon.  Trina 
hurried  on  down  the  gay  street,  witi|  its  evening's 
brilliancy  and  small  activities,  her»awl  over  her 
head,  one  hand  lifting  her  faded  slfrt  from  off  the 
wet  pavements.  She  turned  into  the  alley,  entered 
Zerkow's  old  home  by  the  ever-open  door,  and  ran 
up-stairs  to  the  room.  Nobody. 

"  Why,  isn't  this  funny,"  she  exclaimed,  half 
aloud,  standing  on  the  threshold,  her  little  milk- 
white  forehead  curdling  to  a  frown,  one  sore  finger 
on  her  lips.  Then  a  great  fear  seized  upon  her. 
Inevitably  she  associated  the  house  with  a  scene  of 
violent  death. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  to  the  darkness,  "  Mac  is  all 
right.  He  can  take  care  of  himself."  But  for  all 
that  she  had  a  clear-cut  vision  of  her  husband's 
body,  bloated  with  sea-water,  his  blond  hair  stream 
ing  like  kelp,  rolling  inertly  in  shifting  waters. 

"  He  couldn't  have  fallen  off  the  rocks,"  she  de- 

344 


McTeague 

clared  firmly.  "  There — there  he  is  now."  She 
heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief  as  a  heavy  tread 
sounded  in  the  hallway  below.  She  ran  to  the 
banisters,  looking  over,  and  calling,  "  Oh,  Mac!  Is 
that  you,  Mac?  "  It  was  the  German  whose  family 
occupied  the  lower  floor.  The  power-house  clock 
struck  nine. 

"  My  God,  where  is  Mac?  "  cried  Trina,  stamping 
her  foot. 

She  put  the  shawl  over  her  head  again,  and  went 
out  and  stood  on  the  corner  of  the  alley  and  Polk 
Street,  watching  and  waiting,  craning  her  neck  to 
see  down  the  street.  Once,  even,  she  went  out 
upon  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  flat  and  sat  down 
for  a  moment  upon  the  horse-block  there.  She 
could  not  help  remembering  the  day  when  she  had 
been  driven  up  to  that  horse-block  in  a  hack.  Her 
mother  and  father  and  Owgooste  and  the  twins 
were  with  her.  It  was  her  wedding  day.  Her  wed 
ding  dress  was  in  a  huge  tin  trunk  on  the  driver'? 
seat.  She  had  never  been  happier  before  in  all  hef 
life.  She  remembered  how  she  got  out  of  the  hack 
and  stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  horse-block,  look 
ing  up  at  McTeague's  windows.  She  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him  at  his  shaving,  the  lather  still  on 
his  cheek,  and  they  had  waved  their  hands  at  each 
other.  Instinctively  Trina  looked  up  at  the  flat  be 
hind  her;  looked  up  at  the  bay  window  where  her 
husband's  "  Dental  Parlors  "  had  been.  It  was  all 
dark;  the  windows  had  the  blind,  sightless  appear 
ance  imparted  by  vacant,  untenanted  rooms.  A 
rusty  iron  rod  projected  mournfully  from  one  of  the 
window  ledges. 

345 


McTeague 

"  There's  where  our  sign  hung  once/'  said  Trina. 
She  turned  her  head  and  looked  down  Polk  Street 
towards  where  the  Other  Dentist  had  his  rooms, 
and  there,  overhanging  the  street  from  his  window, 
newly  furbished  and  brightened,  hung  the  huge 
tooth,  her  birthday  present  to  her  husband,  flashing 
and  glowing  in  the  white  glare  of  the  electric  lights 
like  a  beacon  of  defiance  and  triumph. 

"  Ah,  no;  ah,  no,"  whispered  Trina,  choking  back 
a  sob.  "  Life  isn't  so  gay.  But  I  wouldn't  mind, 
no  I  wouldn't  mind  anything,  if  only  Mac  was  home 
all  right."  She  got  up  from  the  horse-block  and 
stood  again  on  the  corner  of  the  alley,  watching 
and  listening. 

It  grew  later.  The  hours  passed.  Trina  kept  at 
her  post.  The  noise  of  approaching  footfalls  grew 
less  and  less  frequent.  Little  by  little  Polk  Street 
dropped  back  into  solitude.  Eleven  o'clock  struck 
from  the  power-house  clock;  lights  were  extin 
guished;  at  one  o'clock  the  cable  stopped,  leaving 
an  abrupt  and  numbing  silence  in  the  air.  All  at 
once  it  seemed  very  still.  The  only  noises  were  the 
occasional  footfalls  of  a  policeman  and  the  persistent 
calling  of  ducks  and  geese  in  the  closed  market 
across  the  way.  The  street  was  asleep. 

When  it  is  night  and  dark,  and  one  is  awake  and 
alone,  one's  thoughts  take  the  color  of  the  surround 
ings;  become  gloomy,  sombre,  and  very  dismal. 
All  at  once  an  idea  came  to  Trina,  a  dark,  terrible 
idea;  worse,  even,  than  the  idea  of  McTeague's 
death. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  no.  It  isn't  true. 
But  suppose — suppose." 

346 


McTeague 

She  left  her  post  and  hurried  back  to  the  house. 

"  No,  no,"  she  was  saying  under  her  breath,  "  it 
isn't  possible.  Maybe  he's  even  come  home  al 
ready  by  another  way.  But  suppose — suppose — 
suppose." 

She  ran  up  the  stairs,  opened  the  door  of  the 
room,  and  paused,  out  of  breath.  The  room  was 
dark  and  empty.  With  cold,  trembling  ringers  she 
lighted  the  lamp,  and,  turning  about,  looked  at  her 
trunk.  The  lock  was  burst. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  cried  Trina,  "  it's  not  true;  it's  not 
true."  She  dropped  on  her  knees  before  the  trunk, 
and  tossed  back  the  lid,  and  plunged  her  hands 
down  into  the  corner  underneath  her  wedding  dress, 
where  she  always  kept  the  savings.  The  brass 
match-safe  and  the  chamois-skin  bag  were  there. 
They  were  empty. 

Trina  flung  herself  full  length  upon  the  floor, 
burying  her  face  in  her  arms,  rolling  her  head  from 
side  to  side.  Her  voice  rose  to  a  wail. 

"  No,  no,  no,  it's  not  true;  it's  not  true;  it's  not 
true.  Oh,  he  couldn't  have  done  it.  Oh,  how 
could  he  have  done  it?  All  my  money,  all  my  little 
savings — and  deserted  me.  He's  gone,  my  money's 
gone,  my  dear  money — my  dear,  dear  gold  pieces 
that  I've  worked  so  hard  for.  Oh,  to  have  deserted 
me — gone  for  good — gone  and  never  coming  back 
— gone  with  my  gold  pieces.  Gone — gone — gone. 
I'll  never  see  them  again,  and  I've  worked  so  hard, 
so  so  hard  for  him — for  them.  No,  no,  no,  it's  not 
true.  It  is  true.  What  will  become  of  me  now? 
Oh,  if  you'll  only  come  back  you  can  have  all  the 
money — half  of  it.  Oh,  give  me  back  my  money. 
347 


McTeague 

Give  me  back  my  money,  and  I'll  forgive  you.  You 
can  leave  me  then  if  you  want  to.  Oh,  my  money. 
Mac,  Mac,  you've  gone  for  good.  You  don't  love 
me  any  more,  and  now  I'm  a  beggar.  My  money's 
gone,  rny  husband's  gone,  gone,  gone,  gone!" 

Her  grief  was  terrible.  She  dug  her  nails  into 
her  scalp,  and  clutching  the  heavy  coils  of  her  thick 
black  hair  tore  it  again  and  again.  She  struck  her 
forehead  with  her  clenched  fists.  Her  little  body 
shook  from  head  to  foot  with  the  violence  of  her 
sobbing.  She  ground  her  small  teeth  together  and 
beat  her  head  upon  the  floor  with  all  her  strength. 

Her  hair  was  uncoiled  and  hanging  a  tangled, 
dishevelled  mass  far  below  her  waist;  her  dress  was 
torn;  a  spot  of  blood  was  upon  her  forehead;  her 
eyes  were  swollen;  her  cheeks  flamed  vermilion 
from  the  fever  that  raged  in  her  veins.  Old  Miss 
Baker  found  her  thus  towards  five  o'clock  the  next 
morning. 

What  had  happened  between  one  o'clock  and 
dawn  of  that  fearful  night  Trina  never  remembered. 
She  could  only  recall  herself,  as  in  a  picture,  kneel 
ing  before  her  broken  and  rifled  trunk,  and  then — 
weeks  later,  so  it  seemed  to  her — she  woke  to  find 
herself  in  her  own  bed  with  an  iced  bandage  about 
her  forehead  and  the  little  old  dressmaker  at  her 
side,  stroking  her  hot,  dry  palm. 

The  facts  of  the  matter  were  that  the  German 
woman  who  lived  below  had  been  awakened  some 
hours  after  midnight  by  the  sounds  of  Trina's  weep 
ing.  She  had  come  up-stairs  and  into  the  room  to 
find  Trina  stretched  face  downward  upon  the  floor, 
conscious  and  sobbing,  in  the  throes  of  an 
348 


McTeague 

hysteria  for  which  there  was  no  relief.  The  woman, 
terrified,  had  called  her  husband,  and  between  them 
they  had  got  Trina  upon  the  bed.  Then  the  Ger 
man  woman  happened  to  remember  that  Trina  had 
friends  in  the  big  flat  near  by,  and  had  sent  her  hus 
band  to  fetch  the  retired  dressmaker,  while  she  her 
self  remained  behind  to  undress  Trina  and  put  her 
to  bed.  Miss  Baker  had  come  over  at  once,  and  be 
gan  to  cry  herself  at  the  sight  of  the  dentist's  poor 
little  wife.  She  did  not  stop  to  ask  what  the  trouble 
was,  and  indeed  it  would  have  been  useless  to  at 
tempt  to  get  any  coherent  explanation  from  Trina 
at  that  time.  Miss  Baker  had  sent  the  German 
woman's  husband  to  get  some  ice  at  one  of  the  "  all- 
night  "  restaurants  of  the  street;  had  kept  cold,  wet 
towels  on  Trina's  head;  had  combed  and  recombed 
her  wonderful  thick  hair;  and  had  sat  down  by  the 
side  of  the  bed,  holding  her  hot  hand,  with  its  poor 
maimed  fingers,  waiting  patiently  until  Trina  should 
be  able  to  speak. 

Towards  morning  Trina  awoke — or  perhaps  it 
was  a  mere  regaining  of  consciousness — looked  a 
moment  at  Miss  Baker,  then  about  the  room  until 
her  eyes  fell  upon  her  trunk  with  its  broken  lock. 
Then  she  turned  over  upon  the  pillow  and  began  to 
sob  again.  She  refused  to  answer  any  of  the  little 
dressmaker's  questions,  shaking  her  head  violently, 
her  face  hidden  in  the  pillow. 

By  breakfast  time  her  fever  had  increased  to  such 
a  point  that  Miss  Baker  took  matters  into  her  own 
hands  and  had  the  German  woman  call  a  doctor. 
He  arrived  some  twenty  minutes  later.  He  was  a 
big,  kindly  fellow  who  lived  over  the  drug  store 
349 


McTeague 

on  the  corner.  He  had  a  deep  voice  and  a  tremen 
dous  striding  gait  less  suggestive  of  a  physician 
than  of  a  sergeant  of  a  cavalry  troop. 

By  the  time  of  his  arrival  little  Miss  Baker  had 
divined  intuitively  the  entire  trouble.  She  heard 
the  doctor's  swinging  tramp  in  the  entry  below,  and 
heard  the  German  woman  saying: 

"  Righd  oop  der  stairs,  at  der  back  of  der  halle. 
Der  room  mit  der  door  oppen." 

Miss  Baker  met  the  doctor  at  the  landing,  she 
told  him  in  a  whisper  of  the  trouble. 

"  Her  husband's  deserted  her,  I'm  afraid,  doctor, 
and  took  all  of  her  money — a  good  deal  of  it.  It's 
about  killed  the  poor  child.  She  was  out  of  her 
head  a  good  deal  of  the  night,  and  now  she's  got  a 
raging  fever." 

The  doctor  and  Miss  Baker  returned  to  the  room 
and  entered,  closing  the  door.  The  big  doctor  stood 
for  a  moment  looking  down  at  Trina  rolling  her 
head  from  side  to  side  upon  the  pillow,  her  face 
scarlet,  her  enormous  mane  of  hair  spread  out  on 
either  side  of  her.  The  little  dressmaker  remained 
at  his  elbow,  looking  from  him  to  Trina. 

"  Poor  little  woman!  "  said  the  doctor;  "  poor  lit 
tle  woman!  " 

Miss  Baker  pointed  to  the  trunk,  whispering: 

"  See,  there's  where  she  kept  her  savings.  See, 
he  broke  the  lock." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  McTeague,"  said  the  doctor,  sitting 
down  by  the  bed,  and  taking  Trina's  wrist,  "  a  little 
fever,  eh?" 

Trina  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him,  and 
then  at  Miss  Baker.  She  did  not  seem  in  the  least 
350 


McTeague 

surprised  at  the  unfamiliar  faces.  She  appeared  to 
consider  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  long,  tremulous  breath, 
"  I  have  a  fever,  and  my  head — my  head  aches  and 
aches." 

The  doctor  prescribed  rest  and  mild  opiates. 
Then  his  eye  fell  upon  the  fingers  of  Trina's  right 
hand.  lie  looked  at  them  sharply.  A  deep  red 
glow,  unmistakable  to  a  physician's  eyes,  was  upon 
some  of  them,  extending  from  the  finger  tips  up  to 
the  second  knuckle. 

"  Hello,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what's  the  matter 
here?  "  In  fact  something  was  very  wrong-  indeed. 
For  days  Trina  had  noticed  it.  The  fingers  of  her 
right  hand  had  swollen  as  never  before,  aching  and 
discolored.  Cruelly  lacerated  by  McTeague's  bru 
tality  as  they  were,  she  had  nevertheless  gone  on 
about  her  work  on  the  Noah's  ark  animals,  con 
stantly  in  contact  with  the  "  non-poisonous  "  paint. 
She  told  as  much  to  the  doctor  in  answer  to  his 
questions.  He  shook  his  head  with  an  exclamation. 

"  Why,  this  is  blood-poisoning,  you  know,"  he 
told  her;  "  the  worst  kind.  You'll  have  to  have 
those  fingers  amputated,  beyond  a  doubt,  or  lose  the 
entire  hand — or  even  worse." 

"  And  my  work!  "  exclaimed  Trina. 


35i 


XIX. 

One  can  hold  a  scrubbing-brush  with  two  good 
fingers  and  the  stumps  of  two*  others  even  if  both 
joints  of  the  thumb  are  gone,  but  it  takes  consider 
able  practice  to  get  used  to  it. 

Trina  became  a  scrub-woman.  She  had  taken 
council  of  Selina,  and  through  her  had  obtained  the 
position  of  care-taker  in  a  little  memorial  kinder 
garten  over  on  Pacific  Street.  Like  Polk  Street,  it 
was  an  accommodation  street,  but  running  through 
a  much  poorer  and  more  sordid  quarter.  Trina  had 
a  little  room  over  the  kindergarten  schoolroom.  It 
was  not  an  unpleasant  room.  It  looked  out  upon  a 
sunny  little  court  floored  with  boards  and  used  as 
the  children's  playground.  Two  great  cherry  trees 
grew  here,  the  leaves  almost  brushing  against  the 
window  of  Trina's  room  and  filtering  the  sunlight 
so  that  it  fell  in  round  golden  spots  upon  the  floor 
of  the  room.  "  Like  gold  pieces,"  Trina  said  to 
herself. 

Trina's  work  consisted  in  taking  care  of  the  kin 
dergarten  rooms,  scrubbing  the  floors,  washing  the 
windows,  dusting  and  airing,  and  carrying  out  the 
ashes.  Besides  this  she  earned  some  five  dollars 
a  month  by  washing  down  the  front  steps  of  some 
big  flats  on  Washington  Street,  and  by  cleaning 
out  vacant  houses  after  the  tenants  had  left.  She 
saw  no  one.  Nobody  knew  her.  She  went  about 
352 


McTeague 

her  work  from  dawn  to  dark,  and  often  entire  days 
passed  when  she  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice.  She  was  alone,  a  solitary,  abandoned  woman, 
lost  in  the  lowest  eddies  of  the  great  city's  tide — the 
tide  that  always  ebbs. 

When  Trina  had  been  discharged  from  the  hospi 
tal  after  the  operation  on  her  ringers,  she  found  her 
self  alone  in  the  world,  alone  with  her  five  thousand 
dollars.  The  interest  of  this  would  support  her, 
and  yet  allow  her  to  save  a  little. 

But  for  a  time  Trina  had  thought  of  giving  up  the 
fight  altogether  and  of  joining  her  family  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  State.  But  even  while  she 
hesitated  about  this  she  received  a  long  letter  from 
her  mother,  an  answer  to  one  she  herself  had  written 
just  before  the  amputation  of  her  right-hand  fingers 
—the  last  letter  she  would  ever  be  able  to  write. 
Mrs.  Sieppe's  letter  was  one  long  lamentation;  she 
had  her  own  misfortunes  to  bewail  as  well  as  those 
of  her  daughter.  The  carpet-cleaning  and  uphols 
tery  business  had  failed.  Mr.  Sieppe  and  Owgooste 
had  left  for  New  Zealand  with  a  colonization  com 
pany,  whither  Airs.  Sieppe  and  the  twins  were  to 
follow  them  as  soon  as  the  colony  established  itself. 
So  far  from  helping  Trina  in  her  ill  fortune,  it  was 
she,  her  mother,  who  might  some  day  in  the  near 
future  be  obliged  to  turn  to  Trina  for  aid.  So  Trina 
had  given  up  the  idea  of  any  help  from  her  family. 
For  that  matter  she  needed  none.  She  still  had  her 
five  thousand,  and  Uncle  Oelbermann  paid  her  the 
interest  with  a  machine-like  regularity.  Now  that 
McTeague  had  left  her,  there  was  one  less  mouth 
to  feed;  and  with  this  saving,  together  with  the 
23  353 


McTeague 

little  she  could  earn  as  scrub-woman,  Trina  could 
almost  manage  to  make  good  the  amount  she  lost 
by  being  obliged  to  cease  work  upon  the  Noah's 
ark  animals. 

Little  by  little  her  sorrow  over  the  loss  of  her 
precious  savings  overcame  the  grief  of  McTeague's 
desertion  of  her.  Her  avarice  had  grown  to  be  her 
one  dominant  passion;  her  love  of  money  for  the 
money's  sake  brooded  in  her  heart,  driving  out  by 
degrees  every  other  natural  affection.  She  grew 
thin  and  meagre;  her  flesh  clove  tight  to  her  small 
skeleton;  her  small  pale  mouth  and  little  uplifted 
chin  grew  to  have  a  certain  feline  eagerness  of  ex 
pression;  her  long,  narrow  eyes  glistened  contin 
ually,  as  if  they  caught  and  held  the  glint  of  metal. 
One  day  as  she  sat  in  her  room,  the  empty  brass 
match-box  and  the  limp  chamois  bag  in  her  hands, 
she  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  I  could  have  forgiven  him  if  he  had  only  gone 
away  and  left  me  my  money.  I  could  have — yes,  I 
could  have  forgiven  him  even  this  " — she  looked  at 
the  stumps  of  her  fingers.  "  But  now,"  her  teeth 
closed  tight  and  her  eyes  flashed,  "  now — I'll — 
never — forgive — him — as — long — as — I — live." 

The  empty  bag  and  the  hollow,  light  match-box 
troubled  her.  Day  after  day  she  took  them  from 
her  trunk  and  wept  over  them  as  other  women  weep 
over  a  dead  baby's  shoe.  Her  four  hundred  dollars 
were  gone,  were  gone,  were  gone.  She  would  never 
see  them  again.  She  could  plainly  see  her  husband 
spending  her  savings  by  handfuls;  squandering  her 
beautiful  gold  pieces  that  she  had  been  at  such  pains 
to  polish  with  soap  and  ashes.  The  thought  rilled 

354 


McTeague 

her  with  an  unspeakable  anguish.  She  would  wake 
at  night  from  a  dream  of  McTeague  revelling  down 
her  money,  and  ask  of  the  darkness,  "  How  much 
did  he  spend  to-day?  How  many  of  the  gold  pieces 
are  left?  Has  he  broken  either  of  the  two  twenty- 
dollar  pieces  yet?  What  did  he  spend  it  for?" 

The  instant  she  was  out  of  the  hospital  Trina 
had  begun  to  save  again,  but  now  it  was  with  an 
eagerness  that  amounted  at  times  to  a  veritable 
frenzy.  She  even  denied  herself  lights  and  fuel  in 
order  to  put  by  a  quarter  or  so,  grudging  every 
penny  she  was  obliged  to  spend.  She  did  her  own 
washing  and  cooking.  Finally  she  sold  her  wed 
ding  dress,  that  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  bottom  of 
her  trunk. 

The  day  she  moved  from  Zerkow's  old  house,  she 
came  suddenly  upon  the  dentist's  concertina  under 
a  heap  of  old  clothes  in  the  closet.  Within  twenty 
minutes  she  had  sold  it  to  the  dealer  in  second-hand 
furniture,  returning  to  her  room  with  seven  dollars 
in  her  pocket,  happy  for  the  first  time  since  Mc 
Teague  had  left  her. 

But  for  all  that  the  match-box  and  the  bag  refused 
to  fill  up;  after  three  weeks  of  the  most  rigid  econ 
omy  they  contained  but  eighteen  dollars  and  some 
small  change.  What  was  that  compared  with  four 
hundred?  Trina  told  herself  that  she  must  have 
her  money  in  hand.  She  longed  to  see  again  the 
heap  of  it  upon  her  work-table,  where  she  could 
plunge  her  hands  into  it,  her  face  into  it,  feeling  the 
cool,  smooth  metal  upon  her  cheeks.  At  such  mo 
ments  she  would  see  in  her  imagination  her  wonder 
ful  five  thousand  dollars  piled  in  columns,  shining 
355 


McTeague 

and  gleaming  somewhere  at  the  bottom  of  Uncle 
Oelbermann's  vault.  She  would  look  at  the  paper 
that  Uncle  Oelbermann  had  given  her,  and  tell  her 
self  that  it  represented  five  thousand  dollars.  But 
in  the  end  this  ceased  to  satisfy  her,  she  must  have 
the  money  itself.  She  must  have  her  four  hundred 
dollars  back  again,  there  in  her  trunk,  in  her  bag 
and  her  match-box,  where  she  could  touch  it  and  see 
it  whenever  she  desired. 

At  length  she  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  one 
day  presented  herself  before  Uncle  Oelbermann  as 
he  sat  in  his  office  in  the  wholesale  toy  store,  and 
told  him  she  wanted  to  have  four  hundred  dollars  of 
her  money. 

"  But  this  is  very  irregular,  you  know,  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague,"  said  the  great  man.  "  Not  business-like 
at  all." 

But  his  niece's  misfortunes  and  the  sight  of  her 
poor  maimed  hand  appealed  to  him.  He  opened 
his  check-book.  "  You  understand,  of  course,"  he 
said,  "  that  this  will  reduce  the  amount  of  your  in 
terest  by  just  so  much." 

"  I  know,  I  know.  I've  thought  of  that,"  said 
Trina. 

"  Four  hundred,  did  you  say?"  remarked  Uncle 
Oelbermann,  taking  the  cap  from  his  fountain  pen. 

"  Yes,  four  hundred,"  exclaimed  Trina,  quickly, 
her  eyes  glistening. 

Trina  cashed  the  check  and  returned  home  with 
the  money — all  in  twenty-dollar  pieces  as  she  had 
desired — in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  For  half  of  that 
night  she  sat  up  playing  with  her  money,  counting 
it  and  recounting  it,  polishing  the  duller  pieces  until 
356 


McTeague 

they  shone.  Altogether  there  were  twenty  twenty- 
dollar  gold  pieces. 

"  Oh-h,  you  beauties!"  murmured  Trina,  run 
ning  her  palms  over  them,  fairly  quivering  with 
pleasure.  "  You  beauties !  Is  there  anything  pret 
tier  than  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece?  You  dear, 
dear  money!  Oh,  don't  I  love  you!  Mine,  mine, 
mine — all  of  you  mine." 

She  laid  them  out  in  a  row  on  the  ledge  of  the 
table,  or  arranged  them  in  patterns — triangles,  cir 
cles,  and  squares — or  built  them  all  up  into  a  pyra 
mid  which  she  afterward  overthrew  for  the  sake  of 
hearing  the  delicious  clink  of  the  pieces  tumbling 
against  each  other.  Then  at  last  she  put  them  away 
in  the  brass  match-box  and  chamois  bag,  delighted 
beyond  words  that  they  were  once  more  full  and 
heavy. 

Then,  a  few  days  after,  the  thought  of  the  money 
still  remaining  in  Uncle  Oelbermann's  keeping  re 
turned  to  her.  It  was  hers,  all  hers — all  that  four 
thousand  six  hundred.  She  could  have  as  much 
of  it  or  as  little  of  it  as  she  chose.  She  only  had  to 
ask.  For  a  week  Trina  resisted,  knowing  very  well 
that  taking  from  her  capital  was  proportionately  re 
ducing  her  monthly  income.  Then  at  last  she 
yielded. 

"  Just  to  make  it  an  even  five  hundred,  anyhow," 
she  told  herself.  That  day  she  drew  a  hundred  dol 
lars  more,  in  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces  as  before. 
From  that  time  Trina  began  to  draw  steadily  upon 
her  capital,  a  little  at  a  time.  It  was  a  passion  with 
her,  a  mania,  a  veritable  mental  disease;  a  tempta 
tion  such  as  drunkards  only  know. 

357 


McTeague 

It  would  come  upon  her  all  of  a  sudden.  While 
she  was  about  her  work,  scrubbing  the  floor  of  some 
vacant  house;  or  in  her  room,  in  the  morning,  as  she 
made  her  coffee  on  the  oil  stove,  or  when  she  woke 
in  the  night,  a  brusque  access  of  cupidity  would 
seize  upon  her.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  glis 
tened,  her  breath  came  short.  At  times  she  would 
leave  her  work  just  as  it  was,  put  on  her  old  bonnet 
of  black  straw,  throw  her  shawl  about  her,  and  go 
straight  to  Uncle  Oelbermann's  store  and  draw 
against  her  money.  Now  it  would  be  a  hundred 
dollars,  now  sixty;  now  she  would  content  herself 
with  only  twenty;  and  once,  after  a  fortnight's  ab 
stinence,  she  permitted  herself  a  positive  debauch 
of  five  hundred.  Little  by  little  she  drew  her  capi 
tal  from  Uncle  Oelbermann,  and  little  by  little  her 
original  interest  of  twenty-five  dollars  a  month 
dwindled. 

One  day  she  presented  herself  again  in  the  office 
of  the  wholesale  toy  store. 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  a  check  for  two  hundred 
dollars,  Uncle  Oelbermann?  "  she  said. 

The  great  man  laid  down  his  fountain  pen  and 
leaned  back  in  his  swivel  chair  with  great  delibera 
tion. 

"  I  don't  understand,  Mrs.  McTeague,"  he  said. 
"  Every  week  you  come  here  and  draw  out  a  little 
of  your  money.  I've  told  you  that  it  is  not  at  all 
regular  or  business-like  for  me  to  let  you  have  it 
this  way.  And  more  than  this,  it's  a  great  incon 
venience  to  me  to  give  you  these  checks  at  unstated 
times.  If  you  wish  to  draw  out  the  whole  amount 
let's  have  some  understanding;.  Draw  it  in  monthly 


McTeague 

installments  of,  say,  five  hundred  dollars,  or  else,*1 
he  added,  abruptly,  "  draw  it  all  at  once,  now,  to 
day.  I  would  even  prefer  it  that  way.  Otherwise  it's 
— it's  annoying.  Come,  shall  I  draw  you  a  check  for 
thirty-seven  hundred,  and  have  it  over  and  done 
with?" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Trina,  with  instinctive  apprehen 
sion,  refusing,  she  did  not  know  why.  "  No,  I'll 
leave  it  with  you.  I  won't  draw  out  any  more." 

She  took  her  departure,  but  paused  on  the  pave 
ment  outside  the  store,  and  stood  for  a  moment  lost 
in  thought,  her  eyes  beginning  to  glisten  and  her 
breath  coming  short.  Slowly  she  turned  about  and 
reentered  the  store;  she  came  back  into  the  office, 
and  stood  trembling  at  the  corner  of  Uncle  Oelber- 
mann's  desk.  He  looked  up  sharply.  Twice  Trina 
tried  to  get  her  voice,  and  when  it  did  come  to  her, 
she  could  hardly  recognize  it.  Between  breaths  she 
said: 

"  Yes,  all  right — I'll — you  can  give  me — will  you 
give  me  a  check  for  thirty-seven  hundred?  Give  me 
all  of  my  money." 

A  few  hours  later  she  entered  her  little  room 
over  the  kindergarten,  bolted  the  door  with  shaking 
fingers,  and  emptied  a  heavy  canvas  sack  upon  the 
middle  of  her  bed.  Then  she  opened  her  trunk,  and 
taking  thence  the  brass  match-box  and  the  chamois- 
skin  bag  added  their  contents  to  the  pile.  Next  she 
laid  herself  upon  the  bed  and  gathered  the  gleaming 
heaps  of  gold  pieces  to  her  with  both  arms,  burying 
her  face  in  them  with  long  sighs  of  unspeakable 
delight. 

It  was  a  little  past  noon,  and  the  day  was  fine  and 

359 


McTeague 

The  leaves  of  the  huge  cherry  trees  threw 
off  a  certain  pungent  aroma  that  entered  through 
the  open  window,  together  with  long  thin  shafts  of 
golden  sunlight.  Below,  in  the  kindergarten,  the 
children  were  singing  gayly  and  marching  to  the 
jangling  of  the  piano.  Trina  heard  nothing,  saw 
nothing.  She  lay  on  her  bed,  her  eyes  closed,  her 
face  buried  in  a  pile  of  gold  that  she  encircled  with 
both  her  arms. 

Trina  even  told  herself  at  last  that  she  was  happy 
once  more.  McTeague  became  a  memory — a  mem 
ory  that  faded  a  little  every  day — dim  and  indistinct 
in  the  golden  splendor  of  five  thousand  dollars. 

"  And  yet,"  Trina  would  say,  "  I  did  love  Mac, 
loved  him  dearly,  only  a  little  while  ago.  Even 
when  he  hurt  me,  it  only  made  me  love  him  more. 
How  is  it  I've  changed  so  sudden?  How  could  I 
forget  him  so  soon?  It  must  be  because  he  stole 
my  money.  That  is  it.  I  couldn't  forgive  anyone 
that — no,  not  even  my  mother.  And  I  never — never 
• — will  forgive  him." 

What  had  become  of  her  husband  Trina  did  not 
know.  She  never  saw  any  of  the  old  Polk  Street 
people.  There  was  no  way  she  could  have  news  of 
him,  even  if  she  had  cared  to  have  it.  She  had  her 
money,  that  was  the  main  thing.  Her  passion  for 
it  excluded  every  other  sentiment.  There  it  was 
in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk,  in  the  canvas  sack,  the 
chamois-skin  bag,  and  the  little  brass  match-safe. 
Not  a  day  passed  that  Trina  did  not  have  it  out 
where  she  could  see  and  touch  it.  One  evening 
she  had  even  spread  all  the  gold  pieces  bet\vcen  the 
sheets,  and  had  then  gone  to  bed,  stripping  herself, 


McTeague 

and  had  slept  all  night  upon  the  money,  taking  a 
strange  and  ecstatic  pleasure  in  the  touch  of  the 
smooth  flat  pieces  the  length  of  her  entire  body. 

One  night,  some  three  months  after  she  had  come 
to  live  at  the  kindergarten,  Trina  was  awakened  by 
a  sharp  tap  on  the  pane  of  the  window.  She  sat  up 
quickly  in  bed,  her  heart  beating  thickly,  her  eyes 
rolling  wildly  in  the  direction  of  her  trunk.  The 
tap  was  repeated.  Trina  rose  and  went  fearfully  to 
the  window.  The  little  court  below  was  bright 
with  moonlight,  and  standing  just  on  the  edge  of 
the  shadow  thrown  by  one  of  the  cherry  trees  was 
McTeague.  A  bunch  of  half-ripe  cherries  was  in 
his  hand.  He  was  eating  them  and  throwing  the 
pits  at  the  window.  As  he  caught  sight  of  her,  he 
made  an  eager  sign  for  her  to  raise  the  sash.  Re 
luctant  and  wondering,  Trina  obeyed,  and  the  den 
tist  came  quickly  forward.  He  was  wearing  a  pair 
of  blue  overalls;  a  navy-blue  flannel  shirt  without  a 
cravat;  an  old  coat,  faded,  rain-washed,  and  ripped 
at  the  seams;  and  his  woollen  cap. 

"  Say,  Trina,"  he  exclaimed,  his  heavy  bass  voice 
pitched  just  above  a  whisper,  "  let  me  in,  will 
you,  huh?  Say,  will  you?  I'm  regularly  starv 
ing,  and  I  haven't  slept  in  a  Christian  bed  for  two 
weeks." 

At  sight  at  him  standing  there  in  the  moonlight, 
Trina  could  only  think  of  him  as  the  man  who  had 
beaten  and  bitten  her,  had  deserted  her  and  stolen 
her  money,  had  made  her  suffer  as  she  had  never 
suffered  before  in  all  her  life.  Now  that  he  had 
spent  the  money  that  he  had  stolen  from  her,  he  was 
whining  to  come  back — so  that  he  might  steal  more, 
361 


McTeague 

no  doubt.  Once  in  her  room  he  could  not  help  but 
smell  out  her  five  thousand  dollars.  Her  indigna 
tion  rose. 

"  No,"  she  whispered  back  at  him.  "  No,  I  will 
not  let  you  in." 

"  But  listen  here,  Trina,  I  tell  you  I  am  starving, 
regularly " 

"  Hoh!  "  interrupted  Trina  scornfully.  "  A  man 
can't  starve  with  four  hundred  dollars,  I  guess." 

"  Well— well— I— well— "  faltered  the  dentist. 
"  Never  mind  now.  Give  me  something  to  eat,  an' 
let  me  in  an'  sleep.  I've  been  sleeping  in  the  Plaza 
for  the  last  ten  nights,  and  say,  I — Damn  it,  Trina, 
I  ain't  had  anything  to  eat  since " 

"  Where's  the  four  hundred  dollars  you  robbed 
me  of  when  you  deserted  me?"  returned  Trina, 
coldly. 

"  Well,  I've  spent  it,"  growled  the  dentist.  "  But 
you  can't  see  me  starve,  Trina,  no  matter  what's 
happened.  Give  me  a  little  money,  then." 

"  I'll  see  you  starve  before  you  get  any  more  of 
my  money." 

The  dentist  stepped  back  a  pace  and  stared  up  at 
her,  wonder-stricken.  His  face  was  lean  and 
pinched.  Never  had  the  jaw  bone  looked  so  enor 
mous,  nor  the  square-cut  head  so  huge.  The 
moonlight  made  deep  black  shadows  in  the 
shrunken  cheeks. 

"  Huh?  "  asked  the  dentist,  puzzled.  "  What  did 
you  say?" 

"  I  won't  give  you  any  money — never  again — not 
a  cent." 

"  But  do  you  know  that  I'm  hungry?" 
362 


McTeague 

"  Well,  I've  been  hungry  myself.  Besides,  I  don't 
believe  you." 

"  Trina,  I  ain't  had  a  thing  to  eat  since  yesterday 
morning;  that's  God's  truth.  Even  if  I  did  get  off 
with  your  money,  you  can't  see  me  starve,  can  you? 
You  can't  see  me  walk  the  streets  all  night  because 
I  ain't  got  a  place  to  sleep.  Will  you  let  me  in? 
Say,  will  you?  Huh?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  will  you  give  me  some  money  then — just 

a  little?.    Give  me  a  dollar.     Give  me  half  a  dol 

Say,  give  me  a  dime,  an'  I  can  get  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"  No." 

The  dentist  paused  and  looked  at  her  with  curi 
ous  intentness,  bewildered,  nonplussed. 

"  Say,  you — you  must  be  crazy,  Trina.  I — I — 
wouldn't  let  a  dog  go  hungry." 

"  Not  even  if  he'd  bitten  you,  perhaps." 

The  dentist  stared  again. 

There  was  another  pause.  McTeague  looked  up 
at  her  in  silence,  a  mean  and  vicious  twinkle  coming 
into  his  small  eyes.  He  uttered  a  low  exclamation, 
and  then  checked  himself. 

"  Well,  look  here,  for  the  last  time.  I'm  starving. 
I've  got  nowhere  to  sleep.  Will  you  give  me  some 
money,  or  something  to  eat?  Will  you  let  me  in?  " 

"  No — no — no." 

Trina  could  fancy  she  almost  saw  the  brassy 
glint  in  her  husband's  eyes.  He  raised  one  enor 
mous  lean  fist.  Then  he  growled: 

"  If  I  had  hold  of  you  for  a  minute,  by  God,  I'd 
make  you  dance.  An'  I  will  yet,  I  will  yet.  Don't 
you  be  afraid  of  that." 

363 


McTeague 

Pie  turned  about,  the  moonlight  showing  like  a 
layer  of  snow  upon  his  massive  shoulders.  Trina 
watched  him  as  he  passed  under  the  shadow  of  the 
cherry  trees  and  crossed  the  little  court.  She  heard 
his  great  feet  grinding  on  the  board  flooring.  He 
disappeared. 

Miser  though  she  was,  Trina  was  only  human, 
and  the  echo  of  the  dentist's  heavy  feet  had  not  died 
away  before  she  began  to  be  sorry  for  what  she  had 
done.  She  stood  by  the  open  window  in  her  night 
gown,  her  finger  upon  her  lips. 

"  He  did  looked  pinched,"  she  said  half  aloud. 
"  Maybe  he  was  hungry.  I  ought  to  have  given 
him  something.  I  wish  I  had,  I  wish  I  had.  Oh," 
she  cried,  suddenly,  with  a  frightened  gesture  of 
both  hands,  "  what  have  I  come  to  be  that  I  would 
see  Mac — my  husband — that  I  would  see  him  starve 
rather  than  give  him  money?  No,  no.  It's  too 
dreadful.  I  will  give  him  some.  I'll  send  it  to  him 
to-morrow.  Where? — well,  he'll  come  back."  She 
leaned  from  the  window  and  called  as  loudly  as  she 
dared,  "  Mac,  oh,  Mac."  There  was  no  answer. 

When  McTeague  had  told  Trina  he  had  been 
without  food  for  nearly  two  days  he  was  speaking 
the  truth.  The  week  before  he  had  spent  the  last 
of  the  four  hundred  dollars  in  the  bar  of  a  sailor's 
lodging-house  near  the  water  front,  and  since  that 
time  had  lived  a  veritable  hand-to-mouth  existence. 

He  had  spent  her  money  here  and  there  about  the 
city  in  royal  fashion,  absolutely  reckless  of  the  mor 
row,  feasting  and  drinking  for  the  most  part  with 
companions  he  picked  up  heaven  knows  where, 
acquaintances  of  twenty-four  hours,  whose  names 
364 


McTeague 

he  forgot  in  two  days.  Then  suddenly  he  found 
himself  at  the  end  of  his  money.  He  no  longer 
had  any  friends.  Hunger  rode  him  and  rowelled 
him.  He  was  no  longer  well  fed,  comfortable. 
There  was  no  longer  a  warm  place  for  him  tc  sleep. 
He  went  back  to  Polk  Street  in  the  evening,  walk 
ing  on  the  dark  side  of  the  street,  lurking  in  the 
shadows,  ashamed  to  have  any  of  his  old-time 
friends  see  him.  He  entered  Zerkow's  old  house 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room  Trina  and  he 
had  occupied.  It  was  empty. 

Next  day  he  went  to  Uncle  Oelbermann's  store 
and  asked  news  of  Trina.  Trina  had  not  told  Uncle 
Oelbermann  of  McTeague's  brutalities,  giving  him 
other  reasons  to  explain  the  loss  of  her  fingers; 
neither  had  she  told  him  of  her  husband's  robbery. 
So  when  the  dentist  had  asked  where  Trina  could 
be  found,  Uncle  Oelbermann,  believing  that  Mc 
Teague  was  seeking  a  reconciliation,  had  told  him 
without  hesitation,  and,  he  added: 

"  She  was  in  here  only  yesterday  and  drew  out 
the  balance  of  her  money.  She's  been  drawing 
against  her  money  for  the  last  month  or  so.  She's 
got  it  all  now,  I  guess." 

"  Ah,  she's  got  it  all." 

The  dentist  went  away  from  his  bootless  visit  to 
his  wife  shaking  with  rage,  hating  her  with  all  the 
strength  of  a  crude  and  primitive  nature.  He 
clenched  his  fists  till  his  knuckles  whitened,  his 
teeth  ground  furiously  upon  one  another. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  hold  of  you  once,  I'd  make  you 
dance.  She  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  that  room, 
while  I  stood  there,  not  twenty  feet  away,  and  told 
365 


McTeague 

her  I  was  starving,  and  she  wouldn't  give  me  a  dime 
to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  with;  not  a  dime  to  get  a  cup 
of  coffee.  Oh,  if  I  once  get  my  hands  on  you!" 
His  wrath  strangled  him.  He  clutched  at  the  dark 
ness  in  front  of  him,  his  breath  fairly  whistling  be 
tween  his  teeth. 

That  night  he  walked  the  streets  until  the  morn 
ing,  wondering  what  now  he  was  to  do  to  fight  the 
wolf  away.  The  morning  of  the  next  day  towards 
ten  o'clock  he  was  on  Kearney  Street,  still  walking, 
still  tramping  the  streets,  since  there  was  nothing 
else  for  him  to  do.  By  and  by  he  paused  on  a  cor 
ner  near  a  music  store,  finding  a  momentary  amuse 
ment  in  watching  two  or  three  men  loading  a  piano 
upon  a  dray.  Already  half  its  weight  was  sup 
ported  by  the  dray's  backboard.  One  of  the  men, 
a  big  mulatto,  almost  hidden  under  the  mass  of 
glistening  rosewood,  was  guiding  its  course,  while 
the  other  two  heaved  and  tugged  in  the  rear.  Some 
thing  in  the  street  frightened  the  horses  and  they 
shied  abruptly.  The  end  of  the  piano  was  twitched 
sharply  from  the  backboard.  There  was  a  cry,  the 
mulatto  staggered  and  fell  with  the  falling  piano, 
and  its  weight  dropped  squarely  upon  his  thigh, 
which  broke  with  a  resounding  crack. 

An  hour  later  McTeague  had  found  his  job.  The 
music  store  engaged  him  as  handler  at  six  dollars 
a  week.  McTeague's  enormous  strength,  useless 
all  his  life,  stood  him  in  good  stead  at  last. 

He  slept  in  a  tiny  back  room  opening  from  the 

storeroom  of  the  music  store.     He  was  in  some 

sense  a  watchman  as  well  as  handler,  and  went  the 

rounds  of  the  store  twice  every  night.     His  room 

366 


McTeague 

was  a  box  of  a  place  that  reeked  with  odors  of  stale 
tobacco  smoke.  The  former  occupant  had  papered 
the  walls  with  newspapers  and  had  pasted  up  figures 
cut  out  from  the  posters  of  some  Kiralfy  ballet, 
very  gaudy.  By  the  one  window,  chittering  all  day 
in  its  little  gilt  prison,  hung  the  canary  bird,  a  tiny 
atom  of  life  that  McTeague  still  clung  to  with  a 
strange  obstinacy. 

McTeague  drank  a  good  deal  of  whiskey  in  these 
days,  but  the  only  effect  it  had  upon  him  was  to 
increase  the  viciousness  and  bad  temper  that  had 
developed  in  him  since  the  beginning  of  his  misfor 
tunes.  He  terrorized  his  fellow-handlers,  powerful 
men  though  they  were.  For  a  gruff  word,  for  an 
awkward  movement  in  lading  the  pianos,  for  a 
surly  look  or  a  muttered  oath,  the  dentist's  elbow 
would  crook  and  his  hand  contract  to  a  mallet-like 
fist.  As  often  as  not  the  blow  followed,  colossal  in 
its  force,  swift  as  the  leap  of  the  piston  from  its 
cylinder. 

His  hatred  of  Trina  increased  from  day  to  day. 
He'd  make  her  dance  yet.  Wait  only  till  he  got 
his  hands  upon  her.  She'd  let  him  starve,  would 
she?  She'd  turn  him  out  of  doors  while  she  hid  her 
five  thousand  dollars  in  the  bottom  of  her  trunk. 
Aha,  he  would  see  about  that  some  day.  She 
couldn't  make  small  of  him.  Ah,  no.  She'd  dance 
all  right — all  right.  McTeague  was  not  an  im 
aginative  man  by  nature,  but  he  would  lie 
awake  nights,  his  clumsy  writs  galloping  and 
frisking  under  the  lash  of  the  alcohol,  and  fancy 
himself  thrashing  his  wife,  till  a  sudden  frenzy 
of  rage  would  overcome  him,  and  he  would  shake 
367 


McTeague 

all  over,  rolling  upon  the  bed  and  biting  the  mat 
tress. 

On  a  certain  day,  about  a  week  after  Christmas 
of  that  year,  McTeague  was  on  one  of  the  top  floors 
of  the  music  store,  where  the  second-hand  instru 
ments  were  kept,  helping  to  move  about  and  re 
arrange  some  old  pianos.  As  he  passed  by  one  of 
the  counters  he  paused  abruptly,  his  eye  caught  by 
an  object  that  was  strangely  familiar. 

"  Say,"  he  inquired,  addressing  the  clerk  in 
charge,  "  say,  where'd  this  come  from?" 

"  Why,  let's  see.  We  got  that  from  a  second 
hand  store  up  on  Polk  Street,  I  guess.  It's  a  fairly 
good  machine;  a  little  tinkering  with  the  stops  and 
a  bit  of  shellac,  and  we'll  make  it  about's  good  as 
new.  Good  tone.  See."  And  the  clerk  drew  a  long, 
sonorous  wail  from  the  depths  of  McTeague's  old 
concertina 

"  Well,  it's  mine,"  growled  the  dentist. 

The  other  laughed.  "  It's  yours  for  eleven  dol 
lars." 

"  It's  mine,"  persisted  McTeague.     "  I  want  it." 

"  Go  'long  with  you,  Mac.    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  it's  mine,  that's  what  I  mean.  You 
got  no  right  to  it.  It  was  stolen  from  me,  that's 
what  I  mean,"  he  added,  a  sullen  anger  flaming  up 
in  his  little  eyes. 

The  clerk  raised  a  shoulder  and  put  the  con 
certina  on  an  upper  shelf. 

"  You  talk  to  the  boss  about  that;  t'ain't  none 
of  my  affair.  If  you  want  to  buy  it,  it's  eleven  dol 
lars." 

The  dentist  had  been  paid  off  the  day  before 
368 


McTeague 

and  had  four  dollars  in  his  wallet  at  the  moment. 
He  gave  the  money  to  the  clerk. 

"  Here,  there's  part  of  the  money.  You — you 
put  that  concertina  aside  for  me,  an'  I'll  give  you 
the  rest  in  a  week  or  so — I'll  give  it  to  you  to 
morrow,"  he  exclaimed,  struck  with  a  sudden  idea. 

McTeague  had  sadly  missed  his  concertina. 
Sunday  afternoons  when  there  was  no  work  to  be 
done,  he  was  accustomed  to  lie  flat  on  his  back  on 
his  springless  bed  in  the  little  room  in  the  rear  of 
the  music  store,  his  coat  and  shoes  off,  reading  the 
paper,  drinking  steam  beer  from  a  pitcher,  and 
smoking  his  pipe.  But  he  could  no  longer  play  his 
six  lugubrious  airs  upon  his  concertina,  and  it  was 
a  deprivation.  He  often  wondered  where  it  was 
gone.  It  had  been  lost,  no  doubt,  in  the  general 
wreck  of  his  fortunes.  Once,  even,  the  dentist  had 
taken  a  concertina  from  the  lot  kept  by  the  music 
store.  It  was  a  Sunday  and  no  one  was  about.  But 
he  found  he  could  not  play  upon  it.  The  stops  were 
arranged  upon  a  system  he  did  not  understand. 

Now  his  own  concertina  was  come  back  to  him. 
He  would  buy  it  back.  He  had  given  the  clerk 
four  dollars.  He  knew  where  he  would  get  the 
remaining  seven. 

The  clerk  had  told  him  the  concertina  had  been 
sold  on  Polk  Street  to  the  second-hand  store  there. 
Trina  had  sold  it.  McTeague  knew  it.  Trina  had 
sold  his  concertina — had  stolen  it  and  sold  it — his 
concertina,  his  beloved  concertina,  that  he  had  had 
all  his  life.  Why,  barring  the  canary,  there  was  not 
one  of  all  his  belongings  that  McTeague  had  cher 
ished  more  dearly.  His  steel  engraving  of  "Lor- 
24  369 


McTeague 

enzo  de'  Medici  and  his  Court "  might  be  lost,  his 
stone  pug  dog  might  go,  but  his  concertina! 

"  And  she  sold  it — stole  it  from  me  and  sold  it. 
Just  because  I  happened  to  forget  to  take  it  along 
with  me.  Well,  we'll  just  see  about  that.  You'll 
give  me  the  money  to  buy  it  back,  or " 

His  rage  loomed  big  within  him.  His  hatred  of 
Trina  came  back  upon  him  like  a  returning  surge. 
He  saw  her  small,  prim  mouth,  her  narrow  blue 
eyes,  her  black  mane  of  hair,  and  uptilted  chin,  and 
hated  her  the  more  because  of  them.  Aha,  he'd 
show  her;  he'd  make  her  dance.  He'd  get  that 
seven  dollars  from  her,  or  he'd  know  the  reason 
why.  He  went  through  his  work  that  day,  heaving 
and  hauling  at  the  ponderous  pianos,  handling  them 
with  the  ease  of  a  lifting  crane,  impatient  for  the 
coming  of  evening,  when  he  could  be  left  to  his  own 
devices.  As  often  as  he  had  a  moment  to  spare  he 
went  down  the  street  to  the  nearest  saloon  and 
drank  a  pony  of  whiskey.  Now  and  then  as 
he  fought  and  struggled  with  the  vast  masses  of 
ebony,  rosewood,  and  mahogany  on  the  upper 
floor  of  the  music  store,  raging  and  chafing  at 
their  inertness  and  unwillingness,  while  the  whis 
key  pirouetted  in  his  brain,  he  would  mutter  to 
himself: 

"  An'  /  got  to  do  this.  I  got  to  work  like  a  dray 
horse  while  she  sits  at  home  by  her  stove  and  counts 
her  money — and  sells  my  concertina." 

Six  o'clock  came.  Instead  of  supper,  McTeague 
drank  some  more  whiskey,  five  ponies  in  rapid  suc 
cession.  After  supper  he  was  obliged  to  go  out 
with  the  dray  to  deliver  a  concert  grand  at  the  Odd 
370 


McTeague 

Fellows'  Hall,  where  a  piano  "  recital "  was  to  take 
place. 

"  Ain't  you  coming  back  with  us?  "  asked  one  of 
the  handlers  as  he  climbed  upon  the  driver's  seat 
after  the  piano  had  been  put  in  place. 

"  No,  no,"  returned  the  dentist;  "  I  got  some 
thing  else  to  do."  The  brilliant  lights  of  a  saloon 
near  the  City  Hall  caught  his  eye.  He  decided  he 
would  have  another  drink  of  whiskey.  It  was  about 
eight  o'clock. 

The  following  day  was  to  be  a  fete  day  at  the 
kindergarten,  the  Christmas  and  New  Year  festivals 
combined.  All  that  afternoon  the  little  two-story 
building  on  Pacific  Street  had  been  filled  with  a 
number  of  grand  ladies  of  the  Kindergarten  Board, 
who  were  hanging  up  ropes  of  evergreen  and  sprays 
of  holly,  and  arranging  a  great  Christmas  tree  that 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  ring  in  the  schoolroom. 
The  whole  place  was  pervaded  with  a  pungent,  piney 
odor.  Trina  had  been  very  busy  since  the  early 
morning,  coming  and  going  at  everybody's  call, 
now  running  down  the  street  after  another  tack- 
hammer  or  a  fresh  supply  of  cranberries,  now  tying 
together  the  ropes  of  evergreen  and  passing  them 
up  to  one  of  the  grand  ladies  as  she  carefully  bal 
anced  herself  on  a  step-ladder.  By  evening  every 
thing  was  in  place.  As  the  last  grand  lady  left  the 
school,  she  gave  Trina  an  extra  dollar  for  her  work, 
and  said: 

"  Now,  if  you'll  just  tidy  up  here,  Mrs.  Mc 
Teague,  I  think  that  will  be  all.  Sweep  up  the  pine 
needles  here — you  see  they  are  all  over  the  floor — 
and  look  through  all  the  rooms,  and  tidy  up  gen* 


McTeague 

erally.  Good  night — and  a  Happy  New  Year,"  she 
cried  pleasantly  as  she  went  out. 

Trina  put  the  dollar  away  in  her  trunk  before  she 
did  anything  else  and  cooked  herself  a  bit  of  supper. 
Then  she  came  down-stairs  again. 

The  kindergarten  was  not  large.  On  the  lower 
floor  were  but  two  rooms,  the  main  schoolroom  and 
another  room,  a  cloakroom,  very  small,  where  the 
children  hung  their  hats  and  coats.  This  cloak 
room  opened  off  the  back  of  the  main  schoolroom. 
Trina  cast  a  critical  glance  into  both  of  these  rooms. 
There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  going  and  coming 
in  them  during  the  day,  and  she  decided  that  the 
first  thing  to  do  would  be  to  scrub  the  floors.  She 
went  up  again  to  her  room  overhead  and  heated 
some  water  over  her  oil  stove;  then,  re-descending, 
set  to  work  vigorously. 

By  nine  o'clock  she  had  almost  finished  with  the 
schoolroom.  She  was  down  on  her  hands  and 
knees  in  the  midst  of  a  steaming  muck  of  soapy 
water.  On  her  feet  were  a  pair  of  man's  shoes 
fastened  with  buckles;  a  dirty  cotton  gown,  damp 
with  the  water,  clung  about  her  shapeless,  stunted 
figure.  From  time  to  time  she  sat  back  on  her 
heels  to  ease  the  strain  of  her  position,  and  with  one 
smoking  hand,  white  and  parboiled  with  the  hot 
water,  brushed  her  hair,  already  streaked  with  gray, 
out  of  her  weazened,  pale  face  and  the  corners  of 
her  mouth. 

It  was  very  quiet.     A  gas-jet  without  a  globe  lit 

up  the  place  with  a  crude,  raw  light.     The  cat  who 

lived  on  the  premises,  preferring  to  be  dirty  rather 

than  to  be  wet,  had  got  into  the  coal  scuttle,  and 

372 


McTeague 

over  its  rim  watched  her  sleepily  with  a  long,  com 
placent  purr. 

All  at  once  he  stopped  purring,  leaving  an  abrupt 
silence  in  the  air  like  the  sudden  shutting  off  of  a 
stream  of  water,  while  his  eyes  grew  wide,  two  lam 
bent  disks  of  yellow  in  the  heap  of  black  fur. 

"  Who  is  there?  "  cried  Trina,  sitting  back  on  her 
heels.  In  the  stillness  that  succeeded,  the  water 
dripped  from  her  hands  with  the  steady  tick  of  a 
clock.  Then  a  brutal  fist  swung  open  the  street 
door  of  the  schoolroom  and  McTeague  came  in. 
He  was  drunk;  not  with  that  drunkenness  which 
is  stupid,  maudlin,  wavering  on  its  feet,  but  with 
that  which  is  alert,  unnaturally  intelligent,  vicious. 
perfectly  steady,  deadly  wicked.  Trina  only  had  to 
look  once  at  him,  and  in  an  instant,  with  some- 
strange  sixth  sense,  born  of  the  occasion,  knew 
what  she  had  to  expect. 

She  jumped  up  and  ran  from  him  into  the  little 
cloakroom.  She  locked  and  bolted  the  door  after 
her,  and  leaned  her  weight  against  it,  panting  and 
trembling,  every  nerve  shrinking  and  quivering 
with  the  fear  of  him. 

McTeague  put  his  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  door 
outside  and  opened  it,  tearing  off  the  lock  and 
bolt  guard,  and  sending  her  staggering  across  the 
room. 

"  Mac,"  she  cried  to  him,  as  he  came  in,  speaking 
with  horrid  rapidity,  cringing  and  holding  out  her 
hands,  "  Mac,  listen.  Wait  a  minute — look  here — 
listen  here.  It  wasn't  my  fault.  I'll  give  you  some 
money.  You  can  come  back.  I'll  do  anything  you 
want.  Won't  you  just  listen  to  me?  Oh,  don't!  I'll 

373 


McTeague 

scream.  I  can't  help  it,  you  know.  The  people 
will  hear." 

McTeague  came  towards  her  slowly,  his  immense 
feet  dragging  and  grinding  on  the  floor;  his  enor 
mous  fists,  hard  as  wooden  mallets,  swinging  at  his 
sides.  Trina  backed  from  him  to  the  corner  of  the 
room,  cowering  before  him,  holding  her  elbow 
crooked  in  front  of  her  face,  watching  him  with 
fearful  intentness,  ready  to  dodge. 

"  I  want  that  money,"  he  said,  pausing  in  front 
of  her. 

"  What  money?  "  cried  Trina. 

"  I  want  that  money.  You  got  it — that  five  thou 
sand  dollars.  I  want  every  nickel  of  it!  You 
understand?  " 

"  I  haven't  it.  It  isn't  here.  Uncle  Oelber- 
mann's  got  it." 

"  That's  a  lie.  He  told  me  that  you  came  and  got 
it.  You've  had  it  long  enough ;  now  /  want  it.  Do 
you  hear?  " 

"  Mac,  I  can't  give  you  that  money.  I — I  won't 
give  it  to  you,"  Trina  cried,  with  sudden  resolution. 

"  Yes,  you  will.  You'll  give  me  every  nickel  of 
it." 

"  No,  no." 

"  You  ain't  going  to  make  small  of  me  this  time, 
Give  me  that  money." 

"  No." 

"  For  the  last  time,  will  you  give  me  that 
money?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  won't,  huh?  You  won't  give  me  it?  For 
the  last  time." 

374 


McTeague 

"  No,  no." 

Usually  the  dentist  was  slow  in  his  movements, 
but  now  the  alcohol  had  awakened  in  him  an  ape 
like  agility.  He  kept  his  small  dull  eyes  upon  her, 
and  all  at  once  sent  his  fist  into  the  middle  of  her 
face  with  the  suddenness  of  a  relaxed  spring. 

Beside  herself  with  terror,  Trina  turned  and 
fought  him  back;  fought  for  her  miserable  life  with 
the  exasperation  and  strength  of  a  harassed  cat; 
and  with  such  energy  and  such  wild,  unnatural 
force,  that  even  McTeague  for  the  moment  drew 
back  from  her.  But  her  resistance  was  the  one 
thing  to  drive  him  to  the  top  of  his  fury.  He  came 
back  at  her  again,  his  eyes  drawn  to  two  fine 
twinkling  points,  and  his  enormous  fists,  clenched 
till  the  knuckles  whitened,  raised  in  the  air. 

Then  it  became  abominable. 

In  the  schoolroom  outside,  behind  the  coal  scut 
tle,  the  cat  listened  to  the  sounds  of  stamping  and 
struggling  and  the  muffled  noise  of  blows,  wildly 
terrified,  his  eyes  bulging  like  brass  knobs.  At  last 
the  sounds  stopped  on  a  sudden;  he  heard  nothing 
more.  Then  McTeague  came  out,  closing  the 
door.  The  cat  followed  him  with  distended  eyes  as 
he  crossed  the  room  and  disappeared  through  the 
street  door. 

The  dentist  paused  for  a  moment  on  the  sidewalk, 
looking  carefully  up  and  down  the  street.  It  was 
deserted  and  quiet.  He  turned  sharply  to  the  right 
and  went  down  a  narrow  passage  that  led  into  the 
little  court  yard  behind  the  school.  A  candle  was 
burning  in  Trina's  room.  He  went  up  by  the  out 
side  stairway  and  entered. 

375 


McTeague 

The  trunk  stood  locked  in  one  corner  of  the 
room.  The  dentist  took  the  lid-lifter  from  the  little 
oil  stove,  put  it  underneath  the  lock-clasp  and 
wrenched  it  open.  Groping  beneath  a  pile  of 
dresses  he  found  the  chamois-skin  bag,  the  little 
brass  match-box,  and,  at  the  very  bottom,  carefully 
thrust  into  one  corner,  the  canvas  sack  crammed 
to  the  mouth  with  twenty-dollar  gold  pieces.  He 
emptied  the  chamois-skin  bag  and  the  match-box 
into  the  pockets  of  his  trousers.  But  the  canvas 
sack  was  too  bulky  to  hide  about  his  clothes. 

"  I  guess  I'll  just  naturally  have  to  carry  you"  he 
muttered.  He  blew  out  the  candle,  closed  the  door, 
and  gained  the  street  again. 

The  dentist  crossed  the  city,  going  back  to  the 
music  store.  It  was  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock. 
The  night  was  moonless,  filled  with  a  gray  blur  of 
faint  light  that  seemed  to  come  from  all  quarters 
of  the  horizon  at  once.  From  time  to  time  there 
were  sudden  explosions  of  a  southeast  wind  at  the 
street  corners.  McTeague  went  on,  slanting  his 
head  against  the  gusts,  to  keep  his  cap  from  blow 
ing  off,  carrying  the  sack  close  to  his  side.  Once 
he  looked  critically  at  the  sky. 

"  I  bet  it'll  rain  to-morrow,"  he  muttered,  "  if  this 
wind  works  round  to  the  south." 

Once  in  his  little  den  behind  the  music  store,  he 
washed  his  hands  and  forearms,  and  put  on  his 
working  clothes,  blue  overalls  and  a  jumper,  over 
cheap  trousers  and  vest.  Then  he  got  together  his 
small  belongings — an  old  campaign  hat,  a  pair  of 
boots,  a  tin  of  tobacco,  and  a  pinchbeck  bracelet 
which  he  had  found  one  Sunday  in  the  Park, 
376 


McTeague 

which  he  believed  to  be  valuable.  He  stripped  his 
blanket  from  his  bed  and  rolled  up  in  it  all  these 
objects,  together  with  the  canvas  sack,  fastening 
the  roll  with  a  half  hitch  such  as  miners  use,  the 
instincts  of  the  old-time  car-boy  coming  back  to 
him  in  his  present  confusion  of  mind.  He  changed 
his  pipe  and  his  knife — a  huge  jacknife  with  a  yel 
lowed  bone  handle — to  the  pockets  of  his  overalls. 

Then  at  last  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  door, 
holding  up  the  lamp  before  blowing  it  out,  locking 
about  to  make  sure  he  was  ready  to  go.  The  waver 
ing  light  woke  his  canary.  It  stirred  and  began  to 
chitter  feebly,  very  sleepy  and  cross  at  being  awak 
ened.  McTeague  started,  staring  at  it,  and  re 
flecting.  He  believed  that  it  would  be  a  long  time 
before  anyone  came  into  that  room  again.  The 
canary  would  be  days  without  food;  it  was  likely  it 
would  starve,  would  die  there,  hour  by  hour,  in  its 
little  gilt  prison.  McTeague  resolved  to  take  it 
with  him.  He  took  down  the  cage,  touching  it 
gently  with  his  enormous  hands,  and  tied  a  couple 
of  sacks  about  it  to  shelter  the  little  bird  from  the 
sharp  night  wind. 

Then  he  went  out,  locking  all  the  doors  behind 
him,  and  turned  toward  the  ferry  slips.  The  boats 
had  ceased  running  hours  ago,  but  he  told  himself 
that  by  waiting  till  four  o'clock  he  could  get  across 
the  bay  on  the  tug  that  took  over  the  morning 
papers. 

Trina  lay  unconscious,  just  as  she  had  fallen 
under  the  last  of  McTeague's  blows,  her  body 
twitching  with  an  occasional  hiccough  that  stirred 

377 


McTeague 

the  pool  of  blood  in  which  she  lay  face  downward. 
Towards  morning  she  died  with  a  rapid  series  of 
hiccoughs  that  sounded  like  a  piece  of  clockwork 
running  down. 

The  thing  had  been  done  in  the  cloakroom  where 
the  kindergarten  children  hung  their  hats  and  coats. 
There  was  no  other  entrance  except  by  going 
through  the  main  schoolroom.  McTeague  going 
out  had  shut  the  door  of  the  cloakroom,  but  had 
left  the  street  door  open;  so  when  the  children 
arrived  in  the  morning,  they  entered  as  usual. 

About  half-past  eight,  two  or  three  five-year-olds, 
one  a  little  colored  girl,  came  into  the  schoolroom 
of  the  kindergarten  with  a  great  chatter  of  voices, 
going  across  to  the  cloakroom  to  hang  up  their 
hats  and  coats  as  they  had  been  taught. 

Half  way  across  the  room  one  of  them  stopped 
and  put  her  small  nose  in  the  air,  crying,  ('  Um-o-o, 
what  a  funnee  smell!  "  The  others  began  to  sniff 
the  air  as  well,  and  one,  the  daughter  of  a  butcher, 
exclaimed,  "  'Tsmells  like  my  pa's  shop,"  adding  in 
the  next  breath,  "  Look,  what's  the  matter  with  the 
kittee?" 

In  fact,  the  cat  was  acting  strangely.  He  lay 
quite  flat  on  the  floor,  his  nose  pressed  close  to  the 
crevice  under  the  door  of  the  little  cloakroom, 
winding  his  tail  slowly  back  and  forth,  excited,  very 
eager.  At  times  he  would  draw  back  and  make 
a  strange  little  clacking  noise  down  in  his  throat. 

"  Ain't  he  funnee? "   said  the  little  girl  again. 

The  cat  slunk  swiftly  away  as  the  children  came  up. 

Then  the  tallest  of  the  little  girls  swung  the  door  of 

the  little  cloakroom  wide  open  and  they  all  ran  in. 

378 


XX. 

The  day  was  very  hot,  and  the  silence  of  high 
noon  lay  close  and  thick  between  the  steep  slopes 
of  the  canons  like  an  invisible,  muffling  fluid.  At 
intervals  the  drone  of  an  insect  bored  the  air  and 
trailed  slowly  *o  silence  again.  Everywhere  were 
pungent,  aronritic  smells.  The  vast,  moveless  heat 
seemed  to  distil  countless  odors  from  the  brush — 
odors  of  warm  sap,  of  pine  needles,  and  of  tar-weed, 
and  above  all  the  medicinal  odor  of  witch  hazel.  As 
far  as  one  could  look,  uncounted  multitudes  of  trees 
and  manzanita  bushes  were  quietly  and  motion- 
lessly  growing,  growing,  growing.  A  tremendous, 
immeasurable  Life  pushed  steadily  heavenward 
without  a  sound,  without  a  motion.  At  turns  of  the 
road,  on  the  higher  points,  canons  disclosed  them 
selves  far  away,  gigantic  grooves  in  the  landscape, 
deep  blue  in  the  distance,  opening  one  into  another, 
ocean-deep,  silent,  huge,  and  suggestive  of  colossal 
primeval  forces  held  in  reserve.  At  their  bottoms 
they  were  solid,  massive;  on  their  crests  they  broke 
delicately  into  fine  serrated  edges  where  the  pines 
and  redwoods  outlined  their  million  of  tops  against 
the  high  white  horizon.  Here  and  there  the  moun 
tains  lifted  themselves  out  of  the  narrow  river  beds 
in  groups  like  giant  lions  rearing  their  heads  after 
drinking.  The  entire  region  was  untamed.  In 
some  places  east  of  the  Mississippi  nature  is  cosey, 

379 


McTeague 

intimate,  small,  and  homelike,  like  a  good-natured 
housewife.  In  Placer  County,  California,  she  is  a 
vast,  unconquered  brute  of  the  Pliocene  epoch,  sav 
age,  sullen,  and  magnificently  indifferent  to  man. 

But  there  were  men  in  these  mountains,  like  lice 
on  mammoths'  hides,  fighting  them  stubbornly,  now 
with  hydraulic  "  monitors,"  now  with  drill  and  dy 
namite,  boring  into  the  vitals  of  them,  or  tearing 
away  great  yellow  gravelly  scars  in  the  flanks  of 
them,  sucking  their  blood,  extracting  gold. 

Here  and  there  at  long  distances  upon  the  canon 
sides  rose  the  headgear  of  a  mine,  surrounded  with 
its  few  unpainted  houses,  and  topped  by  its  never- 
failing  feather  of  black  smoke.  On  near  approach 
one  heard  the  prolonged  thunder  of  the  stamp-mill, 
the  crusher,  the  insatiable  monster,  gnashing  the 
rocks  to  powder  with  its  long  iron  teeth,  vomiting 
them  out  again  in  a  thin  stream  of  wet  gray  mud. 
Its  enormous  maw,  fed  night  and  day  with  the  car 
boys'  loads,  gorged  itself  with  gravel,  and  spat  out 
the  gold,  grinding  the  rocks  between  its  jaws, 
glutted,  as  it  were,  with  the  very  entrails  of  the 
earth,  and  growling  over  its  endless  meal,  like  some 
savage  animal,  some  legendary  dragon,  some  fabu 
lous  beast,  symbol  of  inordinate  and  monstrous 
gluttony. 

McTeague  had  left  the  Overland  train  at  Colfax, 
and  the  same  afternoon  had  ridden  some  eight  miles 
across  the  mountains  in  the  stage  that  connects 
Colfax  with  Iowa  Hill.  Iowa  Hill  was  a  small  one- 
street  town,  the  headquarters  of  the  mines  of  the 
district.  Originally  it  had  been  built  upon  the 
summit  of  a  mountain,  but  the  sides  of  this  moun- 
380 


McTeague 

tain  have  long  since  been  "  hydraulicked  "  away,  so 
that  the  town  now  clings  to  a  mere  back  bone,  and 
the  rear  windows  of  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
street  look  down  over  sheer  precipices,  into  vast 
pits  hundreds  of  feet  deep. 

The  dentist  stayed  over  night  at  the  Hill,  and  the 
next  morning  started  off  on  foot  farther  into  the 
mountains.  He  still  wore  his  blue  overalls  and 
jumper;  his  woollen  cap  was  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes;  on  his  feet  were  hob-nailed  boots  he  had 
bought  at  the  store  in  Colfax;  his  blanket  roll  was 
over  his  back;  in  his  left  hand  swung  the  bird  cage 
wrapped  in  sacks. 

Just  outside  the  town  he  paused,  as  if  suddenly 
remembering  something. 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  trail  just  off  the  road  here," 
he  muttered.  "  There  used  to  be  a  trail — a  short 
cut." 

The  next  instant,  without  moving  from  his  posi 
tion,  he  saw  where  it  opened  just  before  him.  His 
instinct  had  halted  him  at  the  exact  spot.  The  trail 
zigzagged  down  the  abrupt  descent  of  the  canon, 
debouching  into  a  gravelly  river  bed. 

"  Indian  River,"  muttered  the  dentist.  "  I  re 
member — I  remember.  I  ought  to  hear  the  Morn 
ing  Star's  stamps  from  here."  He  cocked  his  head. 
A  low,  sustained  roar,  like  a  distant  cataract,  came 
to  his  ears  from  across  the  river.  "  That's  right," 
he  said,  contentedly.  He  crossed  the  river  and  re 
gained  the  road  beyond.  The  slope  rose  under  his 
feet;  a  little  farther  on  he  passed  the  Morning  Star 
mine,  smoking  and  thundering.  McTeague  pushed 
steadily  on.  The  road  rose  with  the  rise  of  the 
381 


McTeague 

mountain,  turned  at  a  sharp  angle  where  a  great 
live-oak  grew,  and  held  level  for  nearly  a  quarter 
of  a  mile.  Twice  again  the  dentist  left  the  road 
and  took  to  the  trail  that  cut  through  deserted  hy 
draulic  pits.  He  knew  exactly  where  to  look  for 
these  trails;  not  once  did  his  instinct  deceive  him. 
He  recognized  familiar  points  at  once.  Here  was 
Cold  Canon,  where  invariably,  winter  and  summer, 
a  chilly  wind  was  blowing;  here  was  where  the  road 
to  Spencer's  branched  off;  here  was  Bussy's  old 
place,  where  at  one  time  there  were  so  many  dogs; 
here  was  Delmue's  cabin,  where  unlicensed  whiskey 
used  to  be  sold;  here  was  the  plank  bridge  with  its 
one  rotten  board;  and  here  the  flat  overgrown  with 
manzanita,  where  he  once  had  shot  three  quail. 

At  noon,  after  he  had  been  tramping  for  some 
two  hours,  he  halted  at  a  point  where  the  road 
dipped  suddenly.  A  little  to  the  right  of  him,  and 
flanking  the  road,  an  enormous  yellow  gravel-pit 
like  an  emptied  lake  gaped  to  heaven.  Farther  on, 
in  the  distance,  a  canon  zigzagged  toward  the  hori 
zon,  rugged  with  pine-clad  mountain  crests.  Nearer 
at  hand,  and  directly  in  the  line  of  the  road,  was  an 
irregular  cluster  of  unpainted  cabins.  A  dull,  pro 
longed  roar  vibrated  in  the  air.  McTeague  nodded 
his  head  as  if  satisfied. 

"  That's  the  place,"  he  muttered. 

He  reshouldered  his  blanket  roll  and  descended 
the  road.  At  last  he  halted  again.  He  stood  be 
fore  a  low  one-story  building,  differing  from  the 
others  in  that  it  was  painted.  A  verandah,  shut  in 
with  mosquito  netting,  surrounded  it.  McTeague 
dropped  his  blanket  roll  on  a  lumber  pile  outside, 
382 


McTcague 

and  came  up  and  knocked  at  the  open  door.     Some 
one  called  to  him  to  come  in. 

McTeague  entered,  rolling  his  eyes  about  him, 
noting  the  changes  that  had  been  made  since  he  had 
last  seen  this  place.  A  partition  had  been  knocked 
down,  making  one  big  room  out  of  the  two  former 
small  ones.  A  counter  and  railing  stood  inside  the 
door.  There  was  a  telephone  on  the  wall.  In  one 
corner  he  also  observed  a  stack  of  surveyor's  instru 
ments;  a  big  drawing-board  straddled  on  spindle 
legs  across  one  end  of  the  room,  a  mechanical  draw 
ing  of  some  kind,  no  doubt  the  plan  of  the  mine, 
unrolled  upon  it;  a  chromo  representing  a  couple  of 
peasants  in  a  ploughed  field  (Millet's  "  Angelus  ") 
was  nailed  unframed  upon  the  wall,  and  hanging 
from  the  same  wire  nail  that  secured  one  of  its 
corners  in  place  was  a  bullion  bag  and  a  cartridge 
belt  with  a  loaded  revolver  in  the  pouch. 

The  dentist  approached  the  counter  and  leaned 
his  elbows  upon  it.  Three  men  were  in  the  room — 
a  tall,  lean  young  man,  with  a  thick  head  of  hair 
surprisingly  gray,  who  was  playing  with  a  half- 
grown  great  Dane  puppy;  another  fellow  about  as 
young,  but  with  a  jaw  almost  as  salient  as  Mc- 
Teague's,  stood  at  the  letter-press  taking  a  copy  of  a 
letter;  a  third  man,  a  little  older  than  the  other  two, 
was  pottering  over  a  transit.  This  latter  was  mas 
sively  built,  and  wore  overalls  and  low  boots 
streaked  and  stained  and  spotted  in  every  direction 
with  gray  mud.  The  dentist  looked  slowly  from 
one  to  the  other;  then  at  length,  "  Is  the  foreman 
about?  "  he  asked. 

The  man  in  the  muddy  overalls  came  forward. 
383 


McTeague 

"  What  you  want?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  strong  German  accent. 

The  old  invariable  formula  came  back  to  Mc 
Teague  on  the  instant. 

"  What's  the  show  for  a  job?" 

At  once  the  German  foreman  became  preoccu 
pied,  looking  aimlessly  out  of  the  window.  There 
was  a  silence. 

l'  You  hev  been  miner  alretty?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Know  how  to  handle  pick'n  shov'le?" 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

The  other  seemed  unsatisfied.  "  Are  you  a 
'cousin  Jack  '  ?  " 

The  dentist  grinned.  This  prejudice  against 
Cornishmen  he  remembered  too. 

"  No.     American." 

"  How  long  sence  you  mine?  " 

"  Oh,  year  or  two." 

"  Show  your  hends."  McTeague  exhibited  his 
hard,  calloused  palms. 

"When  ken  you  go  to  work?  I  want  a  chuck- 
tender  on  der  night-shift." 

"  I  can  tend  a  chuck.     I'll  go  on  to-night." 

"What's  your  name?" 

The  dentist  started.  He  had  forgotten  to  be  pre 
pared  for  this. 

"Huh?     What?" 

"What's  the  name?" 

McTeague's  eye  was  caught  by  a  railroad  calen 
dar  hanging  over  the  desk.  There  was  no  time  to 
think. 

"  Burlington,"  he  said,  loudly, 
384 


McTeague 

The  German  took  a  card  from  a  file  and  wrote 
it  down. 

"  Give  dis  card  to  der  boarding-boss,  down  at  der 
boarding-haus,  den  gome  find  me  bei  der  mill  at 
sex  o'clock,  imd  I  set  you  to  work." 

Straight  as  a  homing  pigeon,  and  following  a 
blind  and  unreasoned  instinct,  McTeague  had  re 
turned  to  the  Big  Dipper  mine.  Within  a  week's 
time  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  never  been 
away.  He  picked  up  his  life  again  exactly  where 
he  had  left  it  the  day  when  his  mother  had  sent  him 
away  with  the  travelling  dentist,  the  charlatan  who 
had  set  up  his  tent  by  the  bunk  house.  The  house 
McTeague  had  once  lived  in  was  still  there,  occu 
pied  by  one  of  the  shift  bosses  and  his  family.  The 
dentist  passed  it  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  mine. 

He  himself  slept  in  the  bunk  house  with  some 
thirty  others  of  his  shift.  At  half-past  five  in  the 
evening  the  cook  at  the  boarding-house  sounded 
a  prolonged  alarm  upon  a  crowbar  bent  in  the  form 
of  a  triangle,  that  hung  upon  the  porch  of  the 
boarding-house.  McTeague  rose  and  dressed,  and 
with  his  shift  had  supper.  Their  lunch-pails  were 
distributed  to  them.  Then  he  made  his  way  to  the 
tunnel  mouth,  climbed  into  a  car  in  the  waiting  ore 
train,  and  was  hauled  into  the  mine. 

Once  inside,  the  hot  evening  air  turned  to  a  cool 
dampness,  and  the  forest  odors  gave  place  to  the 
smell  of  stale  dynamite  smoke,  suggestive  of  burn 
ing  rubber.  A  cloud  of  steam  came  from  Mc- 
Teague's  mouth;  underneath,  the  water  swashed 
and  rippled  around  the  car-wheels,  while  the  light 
from  the  miner's  candlesticks  threw  wavering  blurs 
25  385 


McTeague 

of  pale  yellow  over  the  gray  rotting  quartz  of  the 
roof  and  walls.  Occasionally  McTeague  bent  down 
his  head  to  avoid  the  lagging  of  the  roof  or  the  pro 
jections  of  an  overhanging  shute.  From  car  to 
car  all  along  the  line  the  miners  called  to  one  an 
other  as  the  train  trundled  along,  joshing  and 
laughing. 

A  mile  from  the  entrance  the  train  reached  the 
breast  where  McTeague's  gang  worked.  The  men 
clambered  from  the  cars  and  took  up  the  labor 
where  the  day  shift  had  left  it,  burrowing  their  way 
steadily  through  a  primeval  river  bed. 

The  candlesticks  thrust  into  the  crevices  of  the 
gravel  strata  lit  up  faintly  the  half  dozen  moving 
figures  befouled  with  sweat  and  with  wet  gray 
mould.  The  picks  struck  into  the  loose  gravel  with 
a  yielding  shock.  The  long-handled  shovels  clinked 
amidst  the  piles  of  bowlders  and  scraped  dully  in  the 
heaps  of  rotten  quartz.  The  Burly  drill  boring  for 
blasts  broke  out  from  time  to  time  in  an  irregular 
chug-chug,  chug-chug,  while  the  engine  that 
pumped  the  water  from  the  mine  coughed  and 
strangled  at  short  intervals. 

McTeague  tended  the  chuck.  In  a  way  he  was 
the  assistant  of  the  man  who  worked  the  Burly.  It 
was  his  duty  to  replace  the  drills  in  the  Burly,  put 
ting  in  longer  ones  as  the  hole  got  deeper  and 
deeper.  From  time  to  time  lie  rapped  the  drill  with 
a  pole-pick  when  it  stuck  fast  or  fitchered. 

Once  it  even  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  a 
resemblance  between  his  present  work  and  the  pro 
fession  he  had  been  forced  to  abandon.  In  the 
Burly  drill  he  saw  a  queer  counterpart  of  his  old- 
386 


McTeagut 

time  dental  engine;  and  what  were  the  drills  and 
chucks  but  enormous  hoe  excavators,  hard  bits,  and 
burrs?  It  was  the  same  work  he  had  so  often  per 
formed  in  his  "  Parlors,"  only  magnified,  made 
monstrous,  distorted,  and  grotesqued,  the  carica 
ture  of  dentistry. 

He  passed  his  nights  thus  in  the  midst  of  the  play 
of  crude  and  simple  forces — the  powerful  attacks  of 
the  Burly  drills;  the  great  exertions  of  bared,  bent 
backs  overlaid  with  muscle;  the  brusque,  resistless 
expansion  of  dynamite;  and  the  silent,  vast,  Titanic 
force,  mysterious  and  slow,  that  cracked  the  timbers 
supporting  the  roof  of  the  tunnel,  and  that  gradually 
flattened  the  lagging  till  it  was  thin  as  paper. 

The  life  pleased  the  dentist  beyond  words.  The 
still,  colossal  mountains  took  him  back  again  like  a 
returning  prodigal,  and  vaguely,  without  knowing 
why,  he  yielded  to  their  influence — their  immensity, 
their  enormous  power,  crude  and  blind,  reflecting 
themselves  in  his  own  nature,  huge,  strong,  brutal 
in  its  simplicity.  And  this,  though  he  only  saw 
the  mountains  at  night.  They  appeared  far  different 
then  than  in  the  daytime.  At  twelve  o'clock  he 
came  out  of  the  mine  and  lunched  on  the  contents 
of  his  dinner-pail,  sitting  upon  the  embankment  of 
the  track,  eating  with  both  hands,  and  looking 
around  him  with  a  steady  ox-like  gaze.  The  moun 
tains  rose  sheer  from  every  side,  heaving  their  gi 
gantic  crests  far  up  into  the  night,  the  black  peaks 
crowding  together,  and  looking  now  less  like  beasts 
than  like  a  company  of  cowled  giants.  In  the  day 
time  they  were  silent:  but  at  night  they  seemed  to 
stir  and  rouse  themselves.  Occasionally  the  stamp- 


McTeague 

mill  stopped,  its  thunder  ceasing  abruptly.  Then 
one  could  hear  the  noises  that  the  mountains  made 
in  their  living.  From  the  cailon,  from  the  crowding 
crests,  from  the  whole  immense  landscape,  there 
rose  a  steady  and  prolonged  sound,  coming  from  all 
sides  at  once.  It  was  that  incessant  and  muffled 
roar  which  disengages  itself  from  all  vast  bodies, 
from  oceans,  from  cities,  from  forests,  from  sleeping 
armies,  and  which  is  like  the  breathing  of  an  in 
finitely  great  monster,  alive,  palpitating. 

McTeague  returned  to  his  work.  At  six  in  the 
morning  his  shift  was  taken  off,  and  he  went  out  of 
the  mine  and  back  to  the  bunk  house.  All  day  long 
he  slept,  flung  at  length  upon  the  strong-smelling 
blankets — slept  the  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion, 
crushed  and  overpowered  with  the  work,  flat  and 
prone  upon  his  belly,  till  again  in  the  evening  the 
cook  sounded  the  alarm  upon  the  crowbar  bent  into 
a  triangle. 

Every  alternate  week  the  shifts  were  changed. 
The  second  week  McTeague's  shift  worked  in  the 
daytime  and  slept  at  night.  Wednesday  night  of 
this  second  week  the  dentist  woke  suddenly.  He 
sat  up  in  his  bed  in  the  bunk  house,  looking  about 
him  from  side  to  side;  an  alarm  clock  hanging  on 
the  wall,  over  a  lantern,  marked  half-past  three. 

"  What  was  it?  "  muttered  the  dentist.  "  I  won 
der  what  it  was."  The  rest  of  the  shift  were  sleep 
ing  soundly,  filling  the  room  with  the  rasping  sound 
of  snoring.  Everything  was  in  its  accustomed 
place;  nothing  stirred.  But  for  all  that  McTeague 
got  up  and  lit  his  miner's  candlestick  and  went  care 
fully  about  the  room,  throwing  the  light  into  the 
388 


McTeague 

dark  corners,  peering  under  all  the  beds,  including 
his  own.  Then  he  went  to  the  door  and  stepped 
outside.  The  night  was  warm  and  still;  the  moon, 
very  low,  and  canted  on  her  side  like  a  galleon 
foundering.  The  camp  was  very  quiet;  nobody  was 
in  sight.  "  I  wonder  what  it  was,"  muttered  the 
dentist.  "  There  was  something — why  did  I  wake 
up?  Huh?"  He  made  a  circuit  about  the  bunk 
house,  unusually  alert,  his  small  eyes  twinkling 
rapidly,  seeing  everything.  All  was  quiet.  An  old 
dog  who  invariably  slept  on  the  steps  of  the  bunk 
house  had  not  even  wakened.  McTeague  went 
back  to  bed,  but  did  not  sleep. 

"  There  was  something,"  he  muttered,  looking  in 
a  puzzled  way  at  his  canary  in  the  cage  that  hung 
from  the  wall  at  'his  bedside;  "something.  What 
was  it?  There  is  something  now.  There  it  is  again 
— the  same  thing."  He  sat  up  in  bed  with  eyes  and 
ears  strained.  "  What  is  it?  I  don'  know  what  it 
is.  I  don'  hear  anything,  an'  I  don'  see  anything. 
I  feel  something — right  now;  feel  it  now.  I  won 
der — I  don'  know — I  don'  know." 

Once  more  he  got  up,  and  this  time  dressed  him 
self.  He  made  a  complete  tour  of  the  camp,  look 
ing  and  listening,  for  what  he  did  not  know.  He 
even  went  to  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  and  for 
nearly  half  an  hour  watched  the  road  that  led  into 
the  camp  from  the  direction  of  Iowa  Hill.  He  saw 
nothing;  not  even  a  rabbit  stirred.  He  went  to  bed. 

But  from  this  time  on  there  was  a  change.  The 
dentist  grew  restless,  uneasy.  Suspicion  of  some 
thing,  he  could  not  say  what,  annoyed  him  inces 
santly.  He  went  wide  around  sharp  corners.  At 


McTeague 

every  moment  he  looked  sharply  over  his  shoulder. 
He  even  went  to  bed  with  his  clothes  and  cap  on, 
and  at  every  hour  during  the  night  would  get  up 
and  prowl  about  the  bunk  house,  one  ear  turned 
down  the  wind,  his  eyes  gimleting  the  darkness. 
From  time  to  time  he  would  murmur: 

"  There's  something.  What  is  it?  I  wonder  what 
it  is." 

What  strange  sixth  sense  stirred  in  McTeague 
at  this  time?  What  animal  cunning,  what  brute 
instinct  clamored  for  recognition  and  obedience? 
What  lower  faculty  was  it  that  roused  his  suspicion, 
that  drove  him  out  into  the  night  a  score  of  times 
between  dark  and  dawn,  his  head  in  the  air,  his  eyes 
and  ears  keenly  alert? 

One  night  as  he  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  bunk 
house,  peering  into  the  shadows  of  the  camp,  he 
uttered  an  exclamation  as  of  a  man  suddenly  en 
lightened.  He  turned  back  into  the  house,  drew 
from  under  his  bed  the  blanket  roll  in  whidh  he 
kept  his  money  hid,  and  took  the  canary  down  from 
the  wall.  He  strode  to  the  door  and  disappeared 
into  the  night.  When  the  sheriff  of  Placer  County 
and  the  two  deputies  from  San  Francisco  reached 
the  Big  Dipper  mine,  McTeague  had  been  gone 
two  days. 


390 


XXI. 

"  Well,"  said  one  of  the  deputies,  as  he  backed 
the  horse  into  the  shafts  of  the  buggy  in  which  the 
pursuers  had  driven  over  from  the  Hill,  "  we've 
about  as  good  as  got  him.  It  isn't  hard  to  follow  a 
man  who  carries  a  bird  cage  with  him  wherever 
he  goes." 

McTeague  crossed  the  mountains  on  foot  the 
Friday  and  Saturday  of  that  week,  going  over 
through  Emigrant  Gap,  following  the  line  of  the 
Overland  railroad.  He  reached  Reno  Monday 
night.  By  degrees  a  vague  plan  of  action  outlined 
itself  in  the  dentist's  mind. 

"  Mexico,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  Mexico, 
that's  the  place.  They'll  watch  the  coast  and  they'll 
watch  the  Eastern  trains,  but  they  won't  think  of 
Mexico." 

The  sense  of  pursuit  which  had  harassed  him 
during  the  last  week  of  his  stay  at  the  Big  Dipper 
mine  had  worn  off,  and  he  believed  himself  to  be 
very  cunning. 

"  I'm  pretty  far  ahead  now,  I  guess,"  he  said. 
At  Reno  he  boarded  a  south-bound  freight  on  the 
line  of  the  Carson  and  Colorado  railroad,  paying  for 
a  passage  in  the  caboose.  "  Freights  don'  run  on 
schedule  time,"  he  muttered,  "  and  a  conductor  on 
a  passenger  train  makes  it  his  business  to  study 
faces.  I'll  stay  with  this  train  as  far  as  it  goes." 
391 


McTeague 

The  freight  worked  slowly  southward,  through 
western  Nevada,  the  country  becoming  hourly  more 
and  more  desolate  and  abandoned.  After  leaving 
Walker  Lake  the  sage-brush  country  began,  and 
the  freight  rolled  heavily  over  tracks  that  threw 
off  visible  layers  of  heat.  At  times  it  stopped  whole 
half  days  on  sidings  or  by  water  tanks,  and  the 
engineer  and  fireman  came  back  to  the  caboose  and 
played  poker  with  the  conductor  and  train  crew. 
The  dentist  sat  apart,  behind  the  stove,  smoking 
pipe  after  pipe  of  cheap  tobacco.  Sometimes  he 
joined  in  the  poker  games.  He  had  learned  poker 
when  a  boy  at  the  mine,  and  after  a  few  deals  his 
knowledge  returned  to  him;  but  for  the  most  part, 
he  was  taciturn  and  unsociable,  and  rarely  spoke  to 
the  others  unless  spoken  to  first.  The  crew  recog 
nized  the  type,  and  the  impression  gained  ground 
among  them  that  he  had  "  done  for  "  a  livery-stable 
keeper  at  Truckee  and  was  trying  to  get  down  into 
Arizona. 

McTeague  heard  two  brakemen  discussing  him 
one  night  as  they  stood  outside  by  the  halted  train. 
"The  livery-stable  keeper  called  him  a  bastard; 
that's  what  Picachos  told  me,"  one  of  them  re 
marked,  "  and  started  to  draw  his  gun;  an'  this  fellar 
did  for  him  with  a  hayfork.  He's  a  horse  doctor, 
this  chap  is,  and  the  livery-stable  keeper  had  got  the 
law  on  him  so's  he  couldn't  practise  any  more,  an* 
he  was  sore  about  it." 

Near  a  place  called  Queen's  the  train  reentered 

California,  and  McTeague  observed  with  relief  that 

the  line  of  track  which  had  hitherto  held  westward 

curved  sharply  to  the  south  again.     The  train  was 

392 


McTeague 

unmolested;  occasionally  the  crew  fought  with  a 
gang  of  tramps  who  attempted  to  ride  the  brake 
beams,  and  once  in  the  northern  part  of  Inyo 
County,  while  they  were  halted  at  a  water  tank,  an 
immense  Indian  buck,  blanketed  to  the  ground, 
approached  McTeague  as  he  stood  on  the  roadbed 
stretching  his  legs,  and  without  a  word  presented 
to  him  a  filthy,  crumpled  letter.  The  letter  was  to 
the  effect  that  the  buck  Big  Jim  was  a  good  Indian 
and  deserving  of  charity;  the  signature  was  illegible. 
The  dentist  stared  at  the  letter,  returned  it  to  the 
buck,  and  regained  the  train  just  as  it  started. 
Neither  had  spoken;  the  buck  did  not  move  from 
his  position,  and  fully  five  minutes  afterward,  when 
the  slow-moving  freight  was  miles  away,  the  dentist 
looked  back  and  saw  him  still  standing  motionless 
between  the  rails,  a  forlorn  and  solitary  point  of 
red,  lost  in  the  immensity  of  the  surrounding  white 
blur  of  the  desert. 

At  length  the  mountains  began  again,  rising  up 
on  either  side  of  the  track;  vast,  naked  hills  of  white 
sand  and  red  rock,  spotted  with  blue  shadows.  Here 
and  there  a  patch  of  green  was  spread  like  a  gay 
table-cloth  over  the  sand.  All  at  once  Mount 
Whitney  leaped  over  the  horizon.  Independence 
was  reached  and  passed;  the  freight,  nearly  emptied 
by  now,  and  much  shortened,  rolled  along  the 
shores  of  Owen  Lake.  At  a  place  called  Keeler  it 
stopped  definitely.  It  was  the  terminus  of  the  road. 

The  town  of  Keeler  was  a  one-street  town,  not 
unlike  Iowa  Hill — the  post-office,  the  bar  and  hotel, 
the  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,  and  the  livery  stable  being 
the  principal  buildings. 

393 


McTeague 

"  Where  to  now?"  muttered  McTeague  to  him 
self  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  in  his  room  in 
the  hotel.  He  hung  the  canary  in  the  window, 
filled  its  little  bathtub,  and  watched  it  take  its  bath 
with  enormous  satisfaction.  "  Where  to  now?  "  he 
muttered  again.  "  This  is  as  far  as  the  railroad 
goes,  an'  it  won'  do  for  me  to  stay  in  a  town  yet 
a  while;  no,  it  won'  do.  I  got  to  clear  out.  Where 
to?  That's  the  word,  where  to?  I'll  go  down  to 
supper  now  " — He  went  on  whispering  his  thoughts 
aloud,  so  that  they  would  take  more  concrete  shape 
in  his  mind — "  I'll  go  down  to  supper  now,  an'  then 
I'll  hang  aroun'  the  bar  this  evening  till  I  get  the 
lay  of  this  land.  Maybe  this  is  fruit  country,  though 
it  looks  more  like  a  cattle  country.  Maybe  it's  a 
mining  country.  If  it's  a  mining  country,"  he  con 
tinued,  puckering  his  heavy  eyebrows,  "  if  it's  a 
mining  country,  an'  the  mines  are  far  enough  off 
the  roads,  maybe  I'd  better  get  to  the  mines  an'  lay 
quiet  for  a  month  before  I  try  to  get  any  farther 
south." 

He  washed  the  cinders  and  dust  of  a  week's  rail 
roading  from  his  face  and  hair,  put  on  a  fresh  pair 
of  boots,  and  went  down  to  supper.  The  dining- 
room  was  of  the  invariable  type  of  the  smaller  in 
terior  towns  of  California.  There  was  but  one  table, 
covered  with  oilcloth ;  rows  of  benches  answered  for 
chairs;  a  railroad  map,  a  chromo  with  a  gilt  frame 
protected  by  mosquito  netting,  hung  on  the  walls, 
together  with  a  yellowed  photograph  of  the  proprie 
tor  in  Masonic  regalia.  Two  waitresses  whom  the 
guests — all  men — called  by  their  first  names,  came 
and  went  with  large  trays. 

394 


McTeague 

Through  the  windows  outside  McTeague  ob 
served  a  great  number  of  saddle  horses  tied  to  trees 
and  fences.  Each  one  of  these  horses  had  a  riata 
on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  He  sat  down  to  the 
table,  eating  his  thick  hot  soup,  watching  his  neigh 
bors  covertly,  listening  to  everything  that  was  said. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  gather  that  the  country 
to  the  east  and  south  of  Keeler  was  a  cattle  country. 

Not  far  off,  across  a  range  of  hills,  was  the  Pana- 
mint  Valley,  where  the  big  cattle  ranges  were. 
Every  now  and  then  this  name  was  tossed  to  and 
fro  across  the  table  in  the  flow  of  conversation — 
"  Over  in  the  Panamint."  "  Just  going  down  for  a 
rodeo  in  the  Panamint."  "  Panamint  brands." 
"  Has  a  range  down  in  the  Panamint."  Then  by 
and  by  the  remark,  "  Hoh,  yes,  Gold  Gulch,  they're 
down  to  good  pay  there.  That's  on  the  other  side 
the  Panamint  Range.  Peters  came  in  yesterday  and 
told  me." 

McTeague  turned  to  the  speaker. 

"  Is  that  a  gravel  mine?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  no,  quartz." 

"  I'm  a  miner;  that's  why  I  asked." 

"  Well  I've  mined  some  too.  I  had  a  hole 
in  the  ground  meself,  but  she  was  silver;  and  when 
the  skunks  at  Washington  lowered  the  price  of 
silver,  where  was  I?  Fitchered,  b'God!  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  a  job." 

"  Well,  it's  mostly  cattle  down  here  in  the  Pana 
mint,  but  since  the  strike  over  at  Gold  Gulch  some 
of  the  boys  'have  gone  prospecting.  There's  gold 
in  them  damn  Panamint  Mountains.  If  you  can 
find  a  good  long  '  contact '  of  country  rocks  you 
395 


McTeague 

ain't  far  from  it.  There's  a  couple  of  fellars  from 
Redlands  has  located  four  claims  around  Gold 
Gulch.  They  got  a  vein  eighteen  inches  wide,  an' 
Peters  says  you  can  trace  it  for  more'n  a  thousand 
feet.  Were  you  thinking  of  prospecting  over 
there?" 

"  Well,  well,  I  don'  know,  I  don'  know." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
range  day  after  t'morrow  after  some  ponies  of  mine, 
an'  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  around.  You  say 
you've  been  a  miner?  "  , 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  If  you're  going  over  that  way,  you  might  come 
along  and  see  if  we  can't  find  a  contact,  or  copper 
sulphurets,  or  something.  Even  if  we  don't  find 
color  we  may  find  silver-bearing  galena."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "  Let's  see,  I  didn't  catch  your  name." 

"  Huh?  My  name's  Carter,"  answered  Mc 
Teague,  promptly.  Why  he  should  change  his 
name  again  the  dentist  could  not  say.  "  Carter  " 
came  to  his  mind  at  once,  and  he  answered  without 
reflecting  that  he  had  registered  as  "  Burlington  " 
when  he  had  arrived  at  the  hotel. 

"  Well,  my  name's  Cribbens,"  answered  the 
other.  The  two  shook  hands  solemnly. 

"You're  about  finished?"  continued  Cribbens, 
pushing  back.  "  Le's  go  out  in  the  bar  an'  have  a 
drink  on  it." 

"  Sure,  sure,"  said  the  dentist. 

The  two  sat  up  late  that  night  in  a  corner  of  the 

barroom  discussing  the  probability  of  finding  gold 

in  the  Panamint  hills.     It  soon  became  evident  that 

they    held    differing    theories.      McTeague    clung 

396 


Me  Te  ague 

to  the  old  prospector's  idea  that  there  was  no 
way  of  telling  where  gold  was  until  you  actu 
ally  saw  it.  Cribbens  had  evidently  read  a 
good  many  books  upon  the  subject,  and  had 
already  prospected  in  something  of  a  scientific 
manner. 

"  Shucks!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Gi'  me  a  long  dis 
tinct  contact  between  sedimentary  and  igneous 
rocks,  an'  I'll  sink  a  shaft  without  ever  seeing 
'  color/  " 

The  dentist  put  his  huge  chin  in  the  air.  "  Gold 
is  where  you  find  it,"  he  returned,  doggedly. 

"  Well,  it's  my  idea  as  how  pardners  ought  to 
work  along  different  lines,"  said  Cribbens.  He 
tucked  the  corners  of  his  mustache  into  his  mouth 
and  sucked  the  tobacco  juice  from  them.  For  a 
moment  he  was  thoughtful,  then  he  blew  out  his 
mustache  abruptly,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Say,  Carter,  le's  make  a  go  of  this.  You  got  a 
little  cash  I  suppose — fifty  dollars  or  so?" 

"Huh?     Yes— I— I- 

"  Well,  /  got  about  fifty.  We'll  go  pardners  on 
the  proposition,  an'  we'll  dally  'round  the  range 
yonder  an'  see  what  we  can  see.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  Sure,  sure,"  answered  the  dentist. 

"  Well,  it's  a  go  then,  hey?" 

"  That's  the  word." 

"  Well,  le's  have  a  drink  on  it." 

They  drank  with  profound  gravity. 

They  fitted  out  the  next  day  at  the  general  mer 
chandise  store  of  Keeler — picks,  shovels,  prospect 
ors'  hammers,  a  couple  of  cradles,  pans,  bacon, 

397 


McTeague 

flour,  coffee,  and  the  like,  and  they  bought  a  burro 
on  which  to  pack  their  kit. 

"  Say,  by  jingo,  you  ain't  got  a  horse,"  suddenly 
exclaimed  Cribbens  as  they  came  out  of  the  store. 
"  You  can't  get  around  this  country  without  a  pony 
of  some  kind." 

Cribbens  already  owned  and  rode  a  buckskin 
cayuse  that  had  to  be  knocked  in  the  head  and 
stunned  before  it  could  be  saddled.  "  I  got  an 
extry  saddle  an'  a  headstall  at  the  hotel  that  you 
can  use,"  he  said,  "  but  you'll  have  to  get  a  horse." 

In  the  end  the  dentist  bought  a  mule  at  the  livery 
stable  for  forty  dollars.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  good 
bargain,  however,  for  the  mule  was  a  good  traveller 
and  seemed  actually  to  fatten  on  sage-brush  and 
potato  parings.  When  the  actual  transaction  took 
place,  McTeague  had  been  obliged  to  get  the  money 
to  pay  for  the  mule  out  of  the  canvas  sack.  Cribbens 
was  with  him  at  the  time,  and  as  the  dentist  unrolled 
his  blankets  and  disclosed  the  sack,  whistled  in 
amazement. 

"  An'  me  asking  you  if  you  had  fifty  dollars!  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  You  carry  your  mine  right  around 
with  you,  don't  you?  " 

"  Huh,  I  guess  so,"  muttered  the  dentist.  "  I— 
I  just  sold  a  claim  I  had  up  in  El  Dorado  County," 
he  added. 

At  five  o'clock  on  a  magnificent  May  morning 
the  "  pardners  "  jogged  out  of  Keeler,  driving  the 
burro  before  them.  Cribbens  rode  his  cayuse,  Mc 
Teague  following  in  his  rear  on  the  mule. 

"  Say,"  remarked  Cribbens,  "  why  in  thunder 
don't  you  leave  that  fool  canary  behind  at  the  hotel? 


McTeague 

It's  going  to  be  in  your  way  all  the  time,  an'  it  will 
sure  die.     Better  break  its  neck  an'  chuck  it." 

"  No,  no,"  insisted  the  dentist.  "  I've  had  it  too 
long.  I'll  take  it  with  me." 

"  Well,  that's  the  craziest  idea  I  ever  heard  of," 
remarked  Cribbens,  "  to  take  a  canary  along  pros 
pecting.  Why  not  kid  gloves,  and  be  done  with 
it?" 

They  travelled  leisurely  to  the  southeast  during 
the  day,  following  a  well-beaten  cattle  road,  and 
that  evening  camped  on  a  spur  of  some  hills  at  the 
head  of  the  Panamint  Valley  where  there  was  a 
spring.  The  next  day  they  crossed  the  Panamint 
itself. 

"  That's  a  smart  looking  valley,"  observed  the 
dentist. 

"  Now  you're  talking  straight  talk,"  returned 
Cribbens,  sucking  his  mustache.  The  valley  was 
beautiful,  wide,  level,  and  very  green.  Everywhere 
were  herds  of  cattle,  scarcely  less  wild  than  deer. 
Once  or  twice  cowboys  passed  them  on  the  road, 
big-boned  fellows,  picturesque  in  their  broad  hats, 
hairy  trousers,  jingling  spurs,  and  revolver  belts, 
surprisingly  like  the  pictures  McTeague  remem 
bered  to  have  seen.  Everyone  of  them  knew  Crib 
bens,  and  almost  invariably  joshed  him  on  his  ven 
ture. 

"  Say,  Crib,  ye'd  best  take  a  wagon  train  with  ye 
to  bring  your  dust  back." 

Cribbens  resented  their  humor,  and  after  they 
had  passed,  chewed  fiercely  on  his  mustache. 

"  I'd  like  to  make  a  strike,  b'God!  if  it  was  only 
to  get  the  laugh  on  them  joshers." 

399 


McTeague 

By  noon  they  were  climbing  the  eastern  slope  of 
the  Panamint  Range.  Long  since  they  had  aban 
doned  the  road;  vegetation  ceased;  not  a  tree  was  in 
sight.  They  followed  faint  cattle  trails  that  led 
from  one  water  hole  to  another.  By  degrees  these 
water  holes  grew  dryer  and  dryer,  and  at  three 
o'clock  Cribbens  halted  and  filled  their  canteens. 

"  There  ain't  any  too  much  water  on  the  other 
side,"  he  observed  grimly. 

"  It's  pretty  hot,"  muttered  the  dentist,  wiping 
his  streaming  forehead  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Huh!"  snorted  the  other  more  grimly  than 
ever.  The  motionless  air  was  like  the  mouth  of  a 
furnace.  Cribbens's  pony  lathered  and  panted.  Mc- 
Teague's  mule  began  to  droop  his  long  ears.  Only 
the  little  burro  plodded  resolutely  on,  picking  the 
trail  where  McTeague  could  see  but  trackless  sand 
and  stunted  sage.  Towards  evening  Cribbens,  who 
was  in  the  lead,  drew  rein  on  the  summit  of  the 
hills. 

Behind  them  was  the  beautiful  green  Panamint 
Valley,  but  before  and  below  them  for  miles  and 
miles,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  flat,  white 
desert,  empty  even  of  sage-brush,  unrolled  toward 
the  horizon.  In  the  immediate  foreground  a 
broken  system  of  arroyos,  and  little  canons  tumbled 
down  to  meet  it.  To  the  north  faint  blue  hills  shoul 
dered  themselves  above  the  horizon. 

"  Well,"  observed  Cribbens,  "  we're  on  the  top  of 
the  Panamint  Range  now.  It's  along  this  eastern 
slope,  right  below  us  here,  that  we're  going  to 
prospect.  Gold  Gulch  " —  he  pointed  with  the  butt 
of  his  quirt — "  is  about  eighteen  or  nineteen  miles 

400 


McTeague 

along  here  to  the  north  of  us.  Those  hills  way 
over  yonder  to  the  northeast  are  the  Telescope 
hills." 

"  What  do  you  call  the  desert  out  yonder?  "  Mc- 
Teague's  eyes  wandered  over  the  illimitable  stretch 
of  alkali  that  stretched  out  forever  and  forever  to  the 
east,  to  the  north,  and  to  the  south. 

"  That,"  said  Cribbens,  "  that's  Death  Valley." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  horses  panted  ir 
regularly,  the  sweat  dripping  from  their  heaving 
bellies.  Cribbens  and  the  dentist  sat  motionless  in 
their  saddles,  looking  out  over  that  abominable 
desolation,  silent,  troubled. 

"  God!  "  ejaculated  Cribbens  at  length,  under  his 
breath,  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  Then  he  seemed 
to  rouse  himself.  "  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  first 
thing  we  got  to  do  now  is  to  find  water." 

This  was  a  long  and  difficult  task.  They  de 
scended  into  one  little  canon  after  another,  followed 
the  course  of  numberless  arroyos,  and  even  dug 
where  there  seemed  indications  of  moisture,  all  to 
no  purpose.  But  at  length  McTeague's  mule  put 
his  nose  in  the  air  and  blew  once  or  twice  through 
his  nostrils. 

"  Smells  it,  the  son  of  a  gun!  "  exclaimed  Crib 
bens.  The  dentist  let  the  animal  have  his  head,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  he  had  brought  them  to  the  bed  of 
a  tiny  canon  where  a  thin  stream  of  brackish  water 
filtered  over  a  ledge  of  rocks. 

"  We'll  camp  here,"  observed  Cribbens,  "  but  we 

can't  turn  the  horses  loose.     We'll  have  to  picket 

'em  with  the  lariats.     I  saw  some  loco-weed  back 

here  a  piece,  and  if  they  get  to  eating  that,  they'll 

26  401 


McTeague 

sure  go  plum  crazy.  The  burro  won't  eat  it,  but  I 
wouldn't  trust  the  others." 

A  new  life  began  for  McTeague.  After  breakfast 
the  "  pardners  "  separated,  going  in  opposite  direc 
tions  along  the  slope  of  the  range,  examining  rocks, 
picking  and  chipping  at  ledges  and  bowlders,  look 
ing  for  signs,  prospecting.  McTeague  went  up 
into  the  little  canons  where  the  streams  had  cut 
through  the  bed  rock,  searching  for  veins  of  quartz, 
breaking  out  this  quartz  when  he  had  found  it, 
pulverizing  and  panning  it.  Cribbens  hunted  for 
"  contacts,"  closely  examining  country  rocks 
and  out-crops,  continually  on  the  lookout  for 
spots  where  sedimentary  and  igneous  rock  came 
together. 

One  day,  after  a  week  of  prospecting,  they  met 
unexpectedly  on  the  slope  of  an  arroyo.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon.  "  Hello,  pardner,"  exclaimed 
Cribbens  as  he  came  down  to  where  McTeague 
was  bending  over  his  pan.  "  What  luck?  " 

The  dentist  emptied  his  pan  and  straightened  up. 
"  Nothing,  nothing.  You  struck  anything?  " 

"  Not  a  trace.  Guess  we  might  as  well  be  mov 
ing  towards  camp."  They  returned  together,  Crib 
bens  telling  the  dentist  of  a  group  of  antelope  he 
had  seen. 

"  We  might  lay  off  to-morrow,  an'  see  if  we  can 
plug  a  couple  of  them  fellers.  Antelope  steak 
would  go  pretty  well  after  beans  an'  bacon  an'  coffee 
week  in  an'  week  out." 

McTeague  was  answering,  when  Cribbens  inter 
rupted  him  with  an  exclamation  of  profound  dis 
gust.  "  I  thought  we  were  the  first  to  prospect 
402 


McTeague 

along  in  here,  an'  now  look  at  that.     Don't  it  make 

you  sick?  " 

He  pointed  out  evidences  of  an  abandoned  pros 
pector's  camp  just  before  them — charred  ashes, 
empty  tin  cans,  one  or  two  gold-miner's  pans,  and 
a  broken  pick.  "  Don't  that  make  you  sick?  "  mut 
tered  Cribbem,  sucking  his  mustache  furiously. 
"  To  think  of  us  mushheads  going  over  ground 
that's  been  covered  already!  Say,  pard::cr,  we'll 
dig  out  of  here  to-morrow.  I've  been  thinking, 
anyhow,  we'd  better  move  to  the  south;  that  water 
of  ours  is  pretty  low." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  guess  so,''  assented  the  dentist. 
:<  There  ain't  any  gold  here." 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  protested  Cribbens  doggedly; 
"  there's  gold  all  through  these  hills,  if  we  could 
only  strike  it.  I  tell  you  what,  pardner,  I  got  a 
place  in  mind  where  I'll  bet  no  one  ain't  prospected 
— least  not  very  many.  There  don't  very  many 
care  to  try  an'  get  to  it.  It's  over  on  the  other  side 
of  Death  Valley.  It's  called  Gold  Mountain,  an' 
there's  only  one  mine  been  located  there,  an'  it's 
paying  like  a  nitrate  bed.  There  ain't  many  people 
in  that  country,  because  it's  all  hell  to  get  into.  First 
place,  you  got  to  cross  Death  Valley  and  strike  the 
Armagosa  Range  fur  off  to  the  south.  Well,  no 
one  ain't  stuck  on  crossing  the  Valley,  not  if  they 
can  help  it.  But  we  could  work  down  the  Pana- 
mint  some  hundred  or  so  miles,  maybe  two  hun 
dred,  an'  fetch  around  by  the  Armagosa  River,  way 
to  the  south'erd.  We  could  prospect  on  the  way. 
But  I  guess  the  Armagosa'd  be  dried  up  at  this  sea 
son.  Anyhow,"  he  concluded,  "  we'll  move  camp 
403 


Mc'i  eague 

to  the  south  to-morrow.  We  got  to  get  new  reed 
an'  water  for  the  horses.  We'll  see  if  we  can  knock 
over  a  couple  of  antelope  to-morrow,  and  then  we'll 
scoot." 

"  I  ain't  got  a  gun,"  said  the  dentist;  "  not  even  a 
revolver.  I " 

"  Wait  a  second,"  said  Cribbens,  pausing  in  his 
scramble  down  the  side  of  one  of  the  smaller 
gulches.  "  Here's  some  slate  here;  I  ain't  seen  no 
slate  around  here  yet.  Let's  see  where  it  goes  to." 

McTeague  followed  him  along  the  side  of  the 
gulch.  Cribbens  went  on  ahead,  muttering  to  him 
self  from  time  to  time: 

"  Runs  right  along  here,  even  enough,  and  here's 
water  too.  Didn't  know  this  stream  was  here; 
pretty  near  dry,  though.  Here's  the  slate  again. 
See  where  it  runs,  pardner?  " 

"  Look  at  it  up  there  ahead,"  said  McTeague.  "  It 
runs  right  up  over  the  back  of  this  hill." 

"  That's  right,"  assented  Cribbens.  "  Hi!  "  he 
shouted  suddenly,  "  here's  a  '  contact,'  and  here  it  is 
again,  and  there,  and  yonder.  Oh,  look  at  it,  will 
you?  That's  grano-diorite  on  slate.  Couldn't 
want  it  any  more  distinct  than  that.  God!  if  we 
could  only  find  the  quartz  between  the  two  now." 

"Well,  there  it  is,"  exclaimed  McTeague. 
"Look  on  ahead  there;  ain't  that  quartz?" 

"  You're  shouting  right  out  loud,"  vociferated 
Cribbens,  looking  where  McTeague  was  pointing. 
His  face  went  suddenly  pale.  He  turned  to  the 
dentist,  his  eyes  wide. 

"  By  God,  pardner,"  he  exclaimed,  breathlessly, 
"  By  God—"  he  broke  off  abruptly. 
404 


McTeague 

"That's  what  you  been  looking  for,  ain't  it?" 
asked  the  dentist. 

"  Looking  for!  Looking  for!  "  Cribbens  checked 
himself.  "  That's  slate  all  right,  and  that's  grano- 
diorite,  /  know  " — he  bent  down  and  examined  the 
rock — "and  here's  the  quartz  between  'em;  there 
can't  be  no  mistake  about  that.  Gi'  me  that  ham 
mer,"  he  cried,  excitedly.  "  Come  on,  git  to  work. 
Jab  into  the  quartz  with  your  pick;  git  out  some 
chunks  of  it."  Cribbens  went  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  attacking  the  quartz  vein  furiously.  The 
dentist  followed  his  example,  swinging  his  pick  with 
enormous  force,  splintering  the  rocks  at  every 
stroke.  Cribbens  was  talking  to  himself  in  his 
excitement. 

"  Got  you  this  time,  you  son  of  a  gun!  By  God! 
I  guess  we  got  you  this  time,  at  last.  Looks  like  it, 
anyhow.  Get  a  move  on,  pardner.  There  ain't 
anybody  'round,  is  there?  Hey?  "  Without  look 
ing,  he  drew  his  revolver  and  threw  it  to  the  dentist. 
"  Take  the  gun  an'  look  around,  pardner.  If  you 
see  any  son  of  a  gun  anywhere,  plug  him.  This 
yere's  our  claim.  I  guess  we  got  it  this  tide,  pard 
ner.  Come  on."  He  gathered  up  the  chunks  of 
quartz  he  had  broken  out,  and  put  them  in  his  hat 
and  started  towards  their  camp.  The  two  went 
along  with  great  strides,  hurrying  as  fast  as  they 
could  over  the  uneven  ground. 

"  I  don'  know,"  exclaimed  Cribbens,  breathlessly, 
"  I  don'  want  to  say  too  much.  Maybe  we're  fooled. 
Lord,  that  damn  camp's  a  long  ways  off.  Oh,  I 
ain't  goin'  to  fool  along  this  way.  Come  on,  pard 
ner."  He  broke  into  a  run.  McTeague  followed 
405 


McTcague 

at  a  lumbering  gallop.  Over  the  scorched,  parched 
ground,  stumbling  and  tripping  over  sage-brush 
and  sharp-pointed  rocks,  under  the  palpitating  heat 
of  the  desert  sun,  they  ran  and  scrambled,  carrying 
the  quartz  lumps  in  their  hats. 

"See  any  'color!  in  it,  pardner?  "  gasped  Crib- 
bens.  "  I  'can't,  can  you?  'Twouldn't  be  visible 
nohow,  I  guess.  Hurry  up.  Lord,  we  ain't  ever 
going  to  get  to  that  camp." 

Finally  they  arrived.  Cribbens  dumped  the 
quartz  fragments  into  a  pan. 

"  You  pestle  her,  pardner,  an'  I'll  fix  the  scales." 
McTeague  ground  the  lumps  to  fine  dust  in  the  iron 
mortar  while  Cribbens  set  up  the  tiny  scales  and 
got  out  the  "  spoons  "  from  their  outfit. 

"  That's  fine  enough,"  Cribbens  exclaimed,  im 
patiently.  "  Now  we'll  spoon  her.  Gi'  me  the 
water." 

Cribbens  scooped  up  a  spoonful  of  the  fine  white 
powder  and  began  to  spoon  it  carefully.  The  two 
were  on  their  hands  and  knees  upon  the  ground, 
their  heads  close  together,  still  panting  with  excite 
ment  and  the  exertion  of  their  run. 

"  Can't  do  it,"  exclaimed  Cribbens,  sitting  back 
on  his  heels,  "  hand  shakes  so.  You  take  it,  pard 
ner.  Careful,  now." 

McTeague  took  the  horn  spoon  and  began  rock 
ing  it  gently  in  his  huge  fingers,  sluicing  the  water 
over  the  edge  a  little  at  a  time,  each  movement 
washing  away  a  little  more  of  the  powdered  quartz. 
The  two  watched  it  with  the  intensest  eagerness. 

"Don't  see  it  yet;  don't  see  it  yet,"  whispered 
Cribbens,  chewing  his  mustache.      "  Leetle  faster, 
406 


McTeague 

pardner.  That's  the  ticket.  Careful,  steady,  now; 
leetle  more,  leetle  more.  Don't  see  color  yet,  do 
you?" 

The  quartz  sediment  dwindled  by  degrees  as  Mc 
Teague  spooned  it  steadily.  Then  at  last  a  thin 
streak  of  a  foreign  substance  began  to  show  just 
along  the  edge.  It  was  yellow. 

Neither  spoke.  Cribbens  dug  his  nails  into  the 
sand,  and  ground  his  mustache  between  his  teeth. 
The  yellow  streak  broadened  as  the  quartz  sediment 
washed  away.  Cribbens  whispered: 

"  We  got  it,  pardner.     That's  gold." 

McTeague  washed  the  last  of  the  white  quartz 
dust  away,  and  let  the  water  trickle  after  it.  A 
pinch  of  gold,  fine  as  flour,  was  left  in  the  bottom 
of  the  spoon. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said.  The  two  looked  at 
each  other.  Then  Cribbens  rose  into  the  air  with  a 
great  leap  and  a  yell  that  could  have  been  heard  for 
half  a  mile. 

"  Yee-e-ow!  We  got  it,  we  struck  it.  Pardner, 
we  got  it.  Out  of  sight.  We're  millionaires."  He 
snatched  up  his  revolver  and  fired  it  with  incon 
ceivable  rapidity.  "  Put  it  there,  old  man,"  he 
shouted,  gripping  McTeague's  palm. 

"  That's  gold,  all  right,"  muttered  McTeague, 
studying  the  contents  of  the  spoon. 

"  You  bet  your  great-grandma's  Cochin-China 
Chessy  cat  it's  gold,"  shouted  Cribbens.  "  Here, 
now,  we  got  a  lot  to  do.  We  got  to  stake  her  out 
an'  put  up  the  location  notice.  We'll  take  our  full 
acreage,  you  bet.  You — we  haven't  weighed  this 
yet  Where's  the  scales?  "  He  weighed  the  pinch 

407 


McTeague 

of  gold  with  shaking  hands.  "  Two  grains,"  he 
cried.  "  That'll  run  five  dollars  to  the  ton.  Rich, 
it's  rich;  it's  the  richest  kind  of  pay,  pardner.  We're 
millionaires.  Why  don't  you  say  something?  Why 
don't  you  get  excited?  Why  don't  you  run  around 
an'  do  something?  " 

"Huh!"  said  McTeague,  rolling  his  eyes. 
"  Huh!  /  know,  I  know,  we've  struck  it  pretty  rich." 

"  Come  on,"  exclaimed  Cribbens,  jumping  up 
again.  "  We'll  stake,  her  out  an'  put  up  the  loca 
tion  notice.  Lord,  suppose  anyone  should  have 
come  on  her  while  we've  been  away."  He  reloaded 
his  revolver  deliberately.  "  We'll  drop  him  all  right, 
if  there's  anyone  fooling  round  there;  I'll  tell  you 
those  right  now.  Bring  the  rifle,  pardner,  an'  if 
you  see  anyone,  plug  him,  an'  ask  him  what  he 
wants  afterward." 

They  hurried  back  to  where  they  had  made  their 
discovery. 

"  To  think,"  exclaimed  .Cribbens,  as  he  drove  the 
first  stake,  "  to  think  those  other  mushheads  had 
their  camp  within  gunshot  of  her  and  never  located 
her.  Guess  they  didn't  know  the  meaning  of  a 
1  contact.'  Oh,  I  knew  I  was  solid  on  '  contacts,'  " 

They  staked  out  their  claim,  and  Cribbens  put 
up  the  notice  of  location*  It  was  dark  before  they 
were  through.  Cribbens  broke  off  some  more 
chunks  of  quartz  in  the  vein. 

"  I'll  spoon  this  too,  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  when  I 
get  home,"  he  explained,  as  they  tramped  back  to 
the  camp. 

"  Well,"  said  the  dentist,  "  we  got  the  laugh  on 
those  cowboys." 

408 


McTeague 

"Have  we?"  shouted  Cribbens.  "Have  we? 
Just  wait  and  see  the  rush  for  this  place  when  we  tell 
'em  about  it  down  in  Keeler.  Say,  what'll  we  call 
her?" 

"  I  don'  know,  I  don'  know." 

"  We  might  call  her  the  '  Last  Chance.'  Twas 
our  last  chance,  wasn't  it?  We'd  'a'  gone  antelope 
shooting  to-morrow,  and  the  next  day  we'd  'a' — 
say,  what  you  stopping  for?  "  he  added,  interrupting 
himself.  "What's  up?" 

The  dentist  had  paused  abruptly  on  the  crest  of 
a  canon.  Cribbens,  looking  back,  saw  him  stand 
ing  motionless  in  his  tracks. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Cribbens  a  second  time. 

McTeague  slowly  turned  his  head  and  looked 
over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the  other.  Suddenly 
he  wheeled  sharply  about,  cocking  the  Winchester 
and  tossing  it  to  his  shoulder. 

Cribbens  ran  back  to  his  side,  whipping  out  his 
revolver. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  cried.  "  See  anybody?  "  He 
peered  on  ahead  through  the  gathering  twilight. 

"  No,  no." 

"  Hear  anything?  " 

"  No,  didn't  hear  anything." 

"  What  is  it  then?     What's  up?" 

"  I  don'  know,  I  don'  know,"  muttered  the  den 
tist,  lowering  the  rifle.  "  There  was  something." 

"What?" 

"  Something — didn't  you  notice?  " 

"Notice  what?" 

"  I  don'  know.  Something — something  or 
other." 

409 


McTeague 

"Who?  What?  Notice  what?  What  did  you 
see?" 

The  dentist  let  down  the  hammer  of  the  rifle. 

"  I  guess  it  wasn't  anything/'  he  said  rather  fool 
ishly. 

"  What  d'you  think  you  saw — anybody  on  the 
claim?" 

"  I  didn't  see  anything.  I  didn't  hear  any 
thing  either.  I  had  an  idea,  that's  all;  came  all 
of  a  sudden,  like  that.  Something,  I  don'  know 
what." 

"  I  guess  you  just  imagined  something.  There 
ain't  anybody  within  twenty  miles  of  us,  I  guess." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,  just  imagined  it,  that's  the 
word." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  had  the  fire  going.  Mc 
Teague  was  frying  strips  of  bacon  over  the  coals, 
and  Cribbens  was  still  chattering  and  exclaiming 
over  their  great  strike.  All  at  once  McTeague  put 
down  the  frying-pan. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  growled. 

"Hey?  What's  what?"  exclaimed  Cribbens, 
getting  up. 

"  Didn't  you  notice  something?  " 

"Where?" 

'  Off  there."  The  dentist  made  a  vague  gesture 
toward  the  eastern  horizon.  "  Didn't  you  hear 
something — I  mean  see  something — I  mean " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  pardner? " 

"  Nothing.     I  guess  I  just  imagined  it." 

But  it  was  not  imagination.  Until  midnight  the 
partners  lay  broad  awake,  rolled  in  their  blankets 
under  the  open  sky,  talking  and  discussing  and 
410 


McTeague 

making-  plans.  At  last  Cribbens  rolled  over  on  his 
side  and  slept.  The  dentist  could  not  sleep. 

What!  It  was  warning  him  again,  that  strange 
sixth  sense,  that  obscure  brute  instinct.  It  was 
aroused  again  and  clamoring  to  be  obeyed.  Here, 
in  these  desolate  barren  hills,  twenty  miles  from  the 
nearest  human  being,  it  stirred  and  woke  and  row- 
elled  him  to  be  moving  on.  It  had  goaded  him  to 
flight  from  the  Big  Dipper  mine,  and  he  had 
obeyed.  But  now  it  was  different;  now  he  had  sud 
denly  become  rich;  he  had  lighted  on  a  treasure — a 
treasure  far  more  valuable  than  the  Big  Dipper 
mine  itself.  How  was  he  to  leave  that?  He  could 
not  move  on  now.  He  turned  about  in  his  blankets. 
No,  he  would  not  move  on.  Perhaps  it  was  his 
fancy,  after  all.  He  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing. 
The  emptiness  of  primeval  desolation  stretched 
from  him  leagues  and  leagues  upon  either  hand. 
The  gigantic  silence  of  the  night  lay  close  over 
everything,  like  a  muffling  Titanic  palm.  Of  what 
was  he  suspicious?  In  that  treeless  waste  an  object 
could  be  seen  at  half  a  clay's  journey  distant.  In 
that  vast  silence  the  click  of  a  pebble  was  as  audible 
as  a  pistol-shot.  And  yet  there  was  nothing,  noth 
ing. 

The  dentist  settled  himself  in  his  blankets  and 
tried  to  sleep.  In  five  minutes  he  was  sitting  up, 
staring  into  the  blue-gray  shimmer  of  the  moon 
light,  straining  his  ears,  watching  and  listening  in 
tently.  Nothing  was  in  sight.  The  browned  and 
broken  flanks  of  the  Panamint  hills  lay  quiet  and 
familiar  under  the  moon.  The  burro  moved  its 
head  with  a  clinking  of  its  bell;  and  McTeague's 
411 


McTeague 

mule,  dozing  on  three  legs,  changed  its  weight  to 
another  foot,  with  a  long  breath.  Everything  fell 
silent  again. 

"  What  is  it?  "  muttered  the  dentist.  "  If  I  could 
only  see  something,  hear  something." 

He  threw  off  the  blankets,  and,  rising,  climbed  to 
the  summit  of  the  nearest  hill  and  looked  back  in 
the  direction  in  which  he  and  Cribbens  had  travelled 
a  fortnight  before.  For  half  an  hour  he  waited, 
watching  and  listening  in  vain.  But  as  he  returned 
to  camp,  and  prepared  to  roll  his  blankets  about 
him,  the  strange  impulse  rose  in  him  again  abruptly, 
never  so  strong,  never  so  insistent.  It  seemed  as 
though  he  were  bitted  and  ridden;  as  if  some  un 
seen  hand  were  turning  him  toward  the  east;  some 
unseen  heel  spurring  him  to  precipitate  and  instant 
flight. 

Flight  from  what?  "  No,"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath.  "  Go  now  and  leave  the  claim,  and  leave  a 
fortune!  What  a  fool  I'd  be,  when  I  can't  see  any 
thing  or  hear  anything.  To  leave  a  fortune !  No,  I 
won't.  No,  by  God!  "  He  drew  Cribbens's  Win 
chester  toward  him  and  slipped  a  cartridge  into  the 
magazine. 

"  No,"  he  growled.  "  Whatever  happens,  I'm 
going  to  stay.  If  anybody  comes — "  He  de 
pressed  the  lever  of  the  rifle,  and  sent  the  cartridge 
clashing  into  the  breech. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  sleep,"  he  muttered  under  his 
mustache.  "  I  can't  sleep;  I'll  watch."  He  rose 
a  second  time,  clambered  to  the  nearest  hilltop 
and  sat  down,  drawing  the  blanket  around  him,  and 
laying  the  Winchester  across  his  knees.  The  hours 
412 


McTeague 

passed.  The  dentist  sat  on  the  hilltop  a  motionless$ 
crouching  figure,  inky  black  against  the  pale  blur 
of  the  sky.  By  and  by  the  edge  of  the  eastern  hori 
zon  began  to  grow  blacker  and  more  distinct  in  out 
line.  The  dawn  was  coming.  Once  more  Mc 
Teague  felt  the  mysterious  intuition  of  approaching 
danger;  an  unseen  hand  seemed  reining  his  head 
eastward;  a  spur  was  in  his  flanks  that  seemed 
to  urge  him  to  hurry,  hurry,  hurry.  The  influ 
ence  grew  stronger  with  every  moment.  The 
dentist  set  his  great  jaws  together  and  held  his 
ground. 

"  No,"  he  growled  between  his  set  teeth.  "  No, 
I'll  stay."  He  made  a  long  circuit  around  the  camp, 
even  going  as  far  as  the  first  stake  of  the  new  claim, 
his  Winchester  cocked,  his  ears  pricked,  his.  eyes 
alert.  There  was  nothing;  yet  as  plainly  as  though 
it  were  shouted  at  the  very  nape  of  his  neck  he  felt 
an  enemy.  It  was  not  fear.  McTeague  was  not 
afraid. 

"  If  I  could  only  see  something — somebody,"  he 
muttered,  as  he  held  the  cocked  rifle  ready,  "  I — I'd 
show  him." 

He  returned  to  camp.  Cribbens  was  snoring. 
The  burro  had  come  down  to  the  stream  for  its 
morning  drink.  The  mule  was  awake  and  brows 
ing.  McTeague  stood  irresolutely  by  the  cold 
ashes  of  the  camp-fire,  looking  from  side  to  side 
with  all  the  suspicion  and  wariness  of  a  tracked 
stag.  Stronger  and  stronger  grew  the  strange  im 
pulse.  It  seemed  to  him  that  on  the  next  instant 
he  must  perforce  wheel  sharply  eastward  and  rush 
away  headlong  in  a  clumsy,  lumbering  gallop.  He 
413 


Me  Te  ague 

fought  against  it  with  all  the  ferocious  obstinacy 
of  his  simple  brute  nature. 

"  Go,  and  leave  the  mine?  Go  and  leave  a  mil 
lion  dollars?  No,  no,  I  won't  go.  No,  I'll  stay. 
Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  under  his  breath,  with  a  shake 
of  his  huge  head,  like  -an  exasperated  and  harassed 
brute,  "  ah,  show  yourself,  will  you?  "  He  brought 
the  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  covered  point  after  point 
along  the  range  of  hills  to  the  west.  "  Come  on, 
show  yourself.  Come  on  a  little,  all  of  you.  I  ain't 
afraid  of  you;  but  don't  skulk  this  way.  You  ain't 
going  to  drive  me  away  from  my  mine.  I'm  going 
to  stay." 

An  hour  passed.  Then  two.  The  stars  winked 
out,  and  the  dawn  whitened.  The  air  became 
warmer.  The  whole  east,  clean  of  clouds,  flamed 
opalescent  from  horizon  to  zenith,  crimson  at  the 
base,  where  the  earth  blackened  against  it;  at  the 
top  fading  from  pink  to  pale  yellow,  to  green,  to 
light  blue,  to  the  turquoise  iridescence  of  the  desert 
sky.  The  long,  thin  shadows  of  the  early  hours 
drew  backward  like  receding  serpents,  then  sud 
denly  the  sun  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  the  world, 
and  it  was  day. 

At  that  moment  McTeague  was  already  eight 
miles  away  from  the  camp,  going  steadily  eastward. 
He  was  descending  the  lowest  spurs  of  the  Pana- 
mint  hills,  following  an  old  and  faint  cattle  trail. 
Before  him  he  drove  his  mule,  laden  with  blankets, 
provisions  for  six  days,  Cribbens's  rifle,  and  a 
canteen  full  of  water.  Securely  bound  to  the  pom 
mel  of  the  saddle  was  the  canvas  sack  with  its  pre 
cious  five  thousand  dollars,  all  in  twenty-dollar  gold 
414 


McTeague 

nieces.  But  strange  enough  in  that  horrid  waste 
of  sand  and  sage  was  the  object  that  McTeague 
himself  persistently  carried — the  canary  in  its  cage, 
about  which  he  had  carefully  wrapped  a  couple  of 
old  flour-bags. 

At  about  five  o'clock  that  morning  McTeague 
had  crossed  several  trails  which  seemed  to  be  con 
verging,  and,  guessing  that  they  led  to  a  water  hole, 
had  followed  one  of  them  and  had  brought  up  at  a 
sort  of  small  sun-dried  sink  which  nevertheless  con 
tained  a  little  water  at  the  bottom.  He  had  watered 
the  mule  here,  refilled  the  canteen,  and  drank  deep 
himself.  He  had  also  dampened  the  old  flour-sacks 
around  the  bird  cage  to  protect  the  little  canary  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  heat,  that  he  knew  would  in 
crease  now  with  every  hour.  He  had  made  ready 
to  go  forward  again,  but  had  paused  irresolute 
again,  hesitating  for  the  last  time. 

"  I'm  a  fool,"  he  growled,  scowling  back  at  the 
range  behind  him.  "  I'm  a  fool.  What's  the  mat 
ter  with  me?  I'm  just  walking  right  away  from  a 
million  dollars.  I  know  it's  there.  No,  by  God !  " 
he  exclaimed,  savagely,  "  I  ain't  going  to  do  it. 
I'm  going  back.  I  can't  leave  a  mine  like  that." 
He  had  wheeled  the  mule  about,  and  had  started  to 
return  on  his  tracks,  grinding  his  teeth  fiercely,  in 
clining  his  head  forward  as  though  butting  against 
a  wind  that  would  beat  him  back.  "  Go  on,  go  on," 
he  cried,  sometimes  addressing  the  mule,  sometimes 
himself.  "  Go  on,  go  back,  go  back.  I  will  go 
back."  It  was  as  though  he  were  climbing  a  hill 
that  grew  steeper  with  every  stride.  The  strange 
impelling  instinct  fought  his  advance  yard  by  yard. 
415 


McTeague 

By  degrees  the  dentist's  steps  grew  slower;* he 
stopped,  went  forward  again  cautiously,  almost  feel 
ing  his  way,  like  someone  approaching  a  pit  in  the 
darkness.  He  stopped  again,  hesitating,  gnashing 
his  teeth,  clinching  his  fists  with  blind  fury.  Sud 
denly  he  turned  the  mule  about,  and  once  more  set 
his  face  to  the  eastward. 

"  I  can't,"  he  cried  aloud  to  the  desert;  "  I  can't, 
I  can't.  It's  stronger  than  I  am.  I  can't  go  back. 
Hurry  now,  hurry,  hurry,  hurry." 

He  hastened  on  furtively,  his  head  and  shoulders 
bent.  At  times  one  could  almost  say  he  crouched 
as  he  pushed  forward  with  long  strides;  now  and 
then  he  even  looked  over  his  shoulder.  Sweat  rolled 
from  him,  he  lost  his  hat,  and  the  matted  mane  of 
thick  yellow  hair  swept  over  his  forehead  and 
shaded  his  small,  twinkling  eyes.  At  times,  with 
a  vague,  nearly  automatic  gesture,  he  reached  his 
hand  forward,  the  fingers  prehensile,  and  directed 
towards  the  horizon,  as  if  he  would  clutch  it  and 
draw  it  nearer;  and  at  intervals  he  muttered, 
"  Hurry,  hurry,  hurry  on,  hurry  on."  For  now  at 
last  McTeague  was  afraid. 

His  plans  were  uncertain.  He  remembered 
what  Cribbens  had  said  about  the  Armagosa  Moun 
tains  in  the  country  on  the  other  side  of  Death 
Valley.  It  was  all  hell  to  get  into  that  country, 
Cribbens  had  said,  and  not  many  men  went  there, 
because  of  the  terrible  valley  of  alkali  that  barred 
the  way,  a  horrible  vast  sink  of  white  sand  and  salt 
below  even  the  sea  level,  the  dry  bed,  no  doubt,  of 
some  prehistoric  lake.  But  McTeague  resolved  to 
make  a  circuit  of  the  valley,  keeping  to  the  south, 
416 


McTeague 

until  he  should  strike  the  Armagosa  River.  He 
would  m  xke  a  circuit  of  the  valley  and  come  up  on 
the  other  side.  He  would  get  into  that  country 
around  Gold  Mountain  in  the  Armagosa  hills, 
barred  off  from  the  world  by  the  leagues  of  the  red- 
hot  alkali  of  Death  Valley.  "  They  "  would  hardly 
reach  him  there.  He  would  stay  at  Gold  Moun 
tain  two  or  three  months,  and  then  work  his  way 
down  ir*to  Mexico. 

McTf.ague  tramped  steadily  forward,  still  descend 
ing  the  lower  irregularities  of  the  Panamint  Range. 
By  nii'e  o'clock  the  slope  flattened  out  abruptly; 
the  hiliS  were  behind  him;  before  him,  to  the  east, 
all  was  level.  He  had  reached  the  region  where 
even  the  sand  and  sage-brush  begin  to  dwindle, 
giving  place  to  white,  powdered  alkali.  The  trails 
were  numerous,  but  old  and  faint;  and  they  had 
been  made  by  cattle,  not  by  men.  They  led  in  all 
directions  but  one — north,  south,  and  west;  but  not 
one,  however  faint,  struck  out  towards  the  valley. 

"  If  I  keep  along  the  edge  of  the  hills  where  these 
trails  are,"  muttered  the  dentist,  "  I  ought  to  find 
water  up  in  the  arroyos  from  time  to  time." 

At  once  he  uttered  an  exclamation.  The  mule 
had  begun  to  squeal  and  lash  out  with  alternate 
hoofs,  his  eyes  rolling,  his  ears  flattened.  He  ran 
a  few  steps,  halted,  and  squealed  again.  Then,  sud 
denly  wheeling  at  right  angles,  set  off  on  a  jog  trot 
to  the  north,  squealing  and  kicking  from  time  to 
time.  McTeague  ran  after  him  shouting  and  swear 
ing,  but  for  a  long  time  the  mule  would  not  allow 
himself  to  be  caught.  He  seemed  more  bewildered 
than  frightened. 

27  417 


McTeague 

"  He's  eatun  some  of  that  loco-weed  that  Crib- 
bens  spoke  about,"  panted  McTeague.  "  Whoa, 
there;  steady,  you."  At  length  the  mule  stopped 
of  his  own  accord,  and  seemed  to  come  to  his 
senses  again.  McTeague  came  up  and  took 
the  bridle  rein,  speaking  to  him  and  rubbing  his 
nose. 

:<  There,  there,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 
The  mule  was  docile  again.  McTeague  washed  his 
mouth  and  set  forward  once  more. 

The  day  was  magnificent.  From  horizon  to  hori 
zon  was  one  vast  span  of  blue,  whitening  as  it 
dipped  earthward.  Miles  upon  miles  to  the  east 
and  southeast  the  desert  unrolled  itself,  white, 
naked,  inhospitable,  palpitating  and  shimmering 
under  the  sun,  unbroken  by  so  much  as  a  rock  or 
cactus  stump.  In  the  distance  it  assumed  all 
manner  of  faint  colors,  pink,  purple,  and  pale 
orange.  To  the  west  rose  the  Panamint  Range, 
sparsely  sprinkled  with  gray  sage-brush;  here  the 
earths  and  sands  were  yellow,  ochre,  and  rich,  deep 
red,  the  hollows  and  canons  picked  out  with  intense 
blue  shadows.  It  seemed  strange  that  such  bar 
renness  could  exhibit  this  radiance  of  color,  but 
nothing  could  have  been  more  beautiful  than  the 
deep  red  of  the  higher  bluffs  and  ridges,  seamed 
with  purple  shadows,  standing  sharply  out  against 
the  pale-blue  whiteness  of  the  horizon. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  sun  stood  high  in  the  sky. 
The  heat  was  intense;  the  atmosphere  was  thick  and 
heavy  with  it.  McTeague  gasped  for  breath  and 
wiped  the  beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead, 
his  cheeks,  and  his  neck.  Every  inch  and  pore  of 
418 


McTeague 

his  skin  was  tingling  and  pricking  under  the  merci 
less  lash  of  the  sun's  rays. 

"  If  it  gets  much  hotter,"  he  muttered,  with  a 
long  breath,  "  If  it  gets  much  hotter,  I — I  don' 
know—  "  he  wagged  his  head  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  eyelids,  where  it  was  running  like  tears. 

The  sun  rose  higher;  hour  by  hour,  as  the  dentist 
tramped  steadily  on,  the  heat  increased.  The 
baked  dry  sand  crackled  into  innumerable  tiny 
flakes  under  his  feet.  The  twigs  of  the  sage-brush 
snapped  like  brittle  pipestems  as  he  pushed  through 
them.  It  grew  hotter.  At  eleven  the  earth  was 
like  the  surface  of  a  furnace;  the  air,  as  McTeague 
breathed  it  in,  was  hot  to  his  lips  and  the  roof  of 
his  mouth.  The  sun  was  a  disk  of  molten  brass 
swimming  in  the  burnt-out  blue  of  the  sky.  Mc 
Teague  stripped  off  his  woollen  shirt,  and  even  un 
buttoned  his  flannel  undershirt,  tying  a  handker 
chief  loosely  about  his  neck. 

"  Lord!  ''  he  exclaimed.  "  I  never  knew  it  could 
get  as  hot  as  this." 

The  heat  grew  steadily  fiercer;  all  distant  objects 
were  visibly  shimmering  and  palpitating  under  it. 
At  noon  a  mirage  appeared  on  the  hills  to  the 
northwest.  McTeague  halted  the  mule,  and  drank 
from  the  tepid  water  in  the  canteen,  dampening  the 
sack  around  the  canary's  cage.  As  soon  as  he 
ceased  his  tramp  and  the  noise  of  his  crunching, 
grinding  footsteps  died  away,  the  silence,  vast, 
illimitable,  enfolded  him  like  an  immeasurable  tide. 
From  all  that  gigantic  landscape,  that  colossal  reach 
of  baking  sand,  there  arose  not  a  single  sound.  Not 
a  twig  rattled,  not  an  insect  hummed,  not  a  bird  or 
419 


McTeague 

beast  invaded  that  huge  solitude  with  call  or  cry. 
Everything  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  to  north, 
to  south,  to  east,  and  west,  lay  inert,  absolutely  quiet 
and  moveless  under  the  remorseless  scourge  of  the 
noon  sun.  The  very  shadows  shrank  away,  hiding 
under  sage-bushes,  retreating  to  the  -farthest  nooks 
and  crevices  in  the  canons  of  the  hills.  All  the 
world  was  one  gigantic  blinding  glare,  silent,  mo 
tionless.  "  If  it  gets  much  hotter,"  murmured  the 
dentist  again,  moving  his  head  from  side  to  side, 
"  If  it  gets  much  hotter,  I  don'  know  what  I'll  do." 

Steadily  the  heat  increased.  At  three  o'clock  it 
was  even  more  terrible  than  it  had  been  at  noon. 

"  Ain't  it  ever  going  to  let  up?  "  groaned  the  den 
tist,  rolling  his  eyes  at  the  sky  of  hot  blue  brass. 
Then,  as  he  spoke,  the  stillness  was  abruptly  stabbed 
through  and  through  by  a  shrill  sound  that  seemed 
to  come  from  all  sides  at  once.  It  ceased;  then,  as 
McTeague  took  another  forward  step,  began  again 
with  the  suddenness  of  a  blow,  shriller,  nearer  at 
hand,  a  hideous,  prolonged  note  that  brought  both 
man  and  mule  to  an  instant  halt. 

"  I  know  what  that  is,"  exclaimed  the  dentist.  His 
eyes  searched  the  ground  swiftly  until  he  saw  what 
he  expected  he  should  see — the  round  thick  coil,  the 
slowly  waving  clover-shaped  head  and  erect  whir 
ring  tail  with  its  vibrant  rattles. 

For  fully  thirty  seconds  the  man  and  snake  re 
mained  looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  Then  the 
snake  uncoiled  and  swiftly  wound  from  sight  amidst 
the  sage-brush.  McTeague  drew  breath  again,  and 
his  eyes  once  more  beheld  the  illimitable  leagues  of 
quivering  sand  and  alkali. 
420 


McTeague 

"  Good  Lord !  What  a  country !  "  he  exclaimed. 
But  his  voice  was  trembling  as  he  urged  forward 
the  mule  once  more. 

Fiercer  and  fiercer  grew  the  heat  as  the  afternoon 
advanced.  At  four  McTeague  stopped  again.  He 
was  dripping  at  every  pore,  but  there  was  no  relief 
in  perspiration.  The  very  touch  of  his  clothes  upon 
his  body  was  unendurable.  The  mule's  ears  were 
drooping  and  his  tongue  lolled  from  his  mouth. 
The  cattle  trails  seemed  to  be  drawing  together 
toward  a  common  point;  perhaps  a  water  hole  was 
near  by. 

"  I'll  have  to  lay  up,  sure,"  muttered  the  dentist. 
"  I  ain't  made  to  travel  in  such  heat  as  this." 

He  drove  the  mule  up  into  one  of  the  larger 
canons  and  halted  in  the  shadow  of  a  pile  of  red 
rock.  After  a  long  search  he  found  water,  a  few 
quarts,  warm  and  brackish,  at  the  bottom  of  a  hollow 
of  sun-cracked  mud ;  it  was  little  more  than  enough 
to  water  the  mule  and  refill  his  canteen.  Here 
he  camped,  easing  the  mule  of  the  saddle,  and  turn 
ing  him  loose  to  find  what  nourishment  he  might. 
A  few  hours  later  the  sun  set  in  a  cloudless  glory  of 
red  and  gold,  and  the  heat  became  by  degrees  less 
intolerable.  McTeague  cooked  his  supper,  chiefly 
coffee  and  bacon,  and  watched  the  twilight  come  on, 
revelling  in  the  delicious  coolness  of  the  evening. 
As  he  spread  his  blankets  on  the  ground  he  resolved 
that  hereafter  he  would  travel  only  at  night,  laying 
up  in  the  daytime  in  the  shade  of  the  canons. 
He  was  exhausted  with  his  terrible  day's  march. 
Never  in  his  life  had  sleep  seemed  so  sweet  to 
him. 

421 


McTeague 

But  suddenly  he  was  broad  awake,  his  jaded 
senses  all  alert. 

"  What  was  that?  "  he  muttered.  "  I  thought  I 
Heard  something — saw  something." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  reaching  for  the  Winchester. 
Desolation  lay  still  around  him.  There  was  not  a 
sound  but  his  own  breathing;  on  the  face  of  the 
desert  not  a  grain  of  sand  was  in  motion.  Mc 
Teague  looked  furtively  and  quickly  from  side  to 
side,  his  teeth  set,  his  eyes  rolling.  Once  more  the 
rowel  was  in  his  flanks,  once  more  an  unseen  hand 
reined  'him  toward  the  east.  After  all  the  miles  of 
that  dreadful  day's  flight  'he  was  no  better  off  than 
when  he  started.  If  anything,  he  was  worse,  for 
never  had  that  mysterious  instinct  in  him  been  more 
insistent  than  now;  never  had  the  impulse  toward 
precipitate  flight  been  stronger;  never  had  the  spur 
bit  deeper.  Every  nerve  of  his  body  cried  aloud 
for  rest;  yet  every  instinct  seemed  aroused  and  alive, 
goading  him  to  hurry  on,  to  hurry  on. 

"What  is  it,  then?  What  is  it?"  he  cried,  be 
tween  his  teeth.  "  Can't  I  ever  get  rid  of  you? 
Ain't  I  ever  going  to  shake  you  off?  Don'  keep  it 
:up  this  way.  Show  yourselves.  Let's  have  it  out 
right  away.  Come  on.  I  ain't  afraid  if  you'll  only 
come  on;  but  don't  skulk  this  way."  Suddenly  he 
cried  aloud  in  a  frenzy  of  exasperation,  "  Damn  you, 
come  on,  will  you?  Come  on  and  have  it  out." 
His  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder,  he  was  covering  bush 
after  bush,  rock  after  rock,  aiming  at  every  denser 
shadow.  All  at  once,  and  quite  involuntarily,  his 
forefinger  crooked,  and  the  rifle  spoke  and  flamed. 
The  canons  roared  back  the  echo,  tossing  it  out  far 
422 


McTeague 

over  the  desert  in  a  rippling,  widening  wave  of 
sound. 

McTeague  lowered  the  rifle  hastily,  with  an  ex 
clamation  of  dismay. 

"  You  fool,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  you  fooL 
You've  done  it  now.  They  could  hear  that  miles 
away.  You've  done  it  now." 

He  stood  listening  intently,  the  rifle  smoking  in 
his  hands.  The  last  echo  died  away.  The  smoke 
vanished,  the  vast  silence  closed  upon  the  passing 
echoes  of  the  rifle  as  the  ocean  closes  upon  a  ship's 
wake.  Nothing1  moved;  yet  McTeague  bestirred 
himself  sharply,  rolling  up  his  blankets,  resaddling 
the  mule,  getting  his  outfit  together  again.  From 
time  to  time  he  muttered: 

"  Hurry  now;  hurry  on.  You  fool,  you've  done 
it  now.  They  could  hear  that  miles  away.  Hurry 
now.  They  ain't  far  off  now." 

As  he  depressed  the  lever  of  the  rifle  to  reload 
it,  he  found  that  the  magazine  was  empty.  He 
clapped  his  hands  to  his  sides,  feeling  rapidly  first 
in  one  pocket,  then  in  another.  He  had  forgotten 
to  take  extra  cartridges  with  him.  McTeague 
swore  under  his  breath  as  he  flung  the  rifle  away. 
Henceforth  he  must  travel  unarmed. 

A  little  more  water  had  gathered  in  the  mud  hole 
near  which  he  had  camped.  He  watered  the  mule 
for  the  last  time  and  wet  the  sacks  around  the  can 
ary's  cage.  Then  once  more  he  set  forward. 

But  there  was  a  change  in  the  direction  of  Mc- 

Teague's  flight.     Hitherto  he  had  held  to  the  south, 

keeping  upon  the  very  edge  of  the  hills;  now  he 

turned  sharply  at  right  angles.     The  slope  fell  away 

423 


McTeague 

beneath  his  hurrying  feet;  the  sage-brush  dwindled, 
and  at  length  ceased;  the  sand  gave  place  to  a  fine 
powder,  white  as  snow;  and  an  hour  after  he  had 
fired  the  rifle  his  mule's  hoofs  were  crisping  and 
cracking  the  sun-baked  flakes  of  alkali  on  the  sur 
face  of  Death  Valley. 

Tracked  and  harried,  as  he  felt  himself  to  be,  from 
one  camping  place  to  another,  McTeague  had  sud 
denly  resolved  to  make  one  last  effort  to  rid  himself 
of  the  enemy  that  seemed  to  hang  upon  his  heels. 
He  would  strike  straight  out  into  that  horrible  wil 
derness  where  even  the  beasts  were  afraid.  He 
would  cross  Death  Valley  at  once  and  put  its  arid 
wastes  between  him  and  his  pursuer. 

"  You  don't  dare  follow  me  now,"  he  muttered, 
as  he  hurried  on.  "  Let's  see  you  come  out  here 
after  me." 

He  hurried  on  swiftly,  urging  the  mule  to  a  rapid 
racking  walk.  Towards  four  o'clock  the  sky  in 
front  of  him  began  to  flush  pink  and  golden.  Mc 
Teague  halted  and  breakfasted,  pushing  on  again 
immediately  afterward.  The  dawn  flamed  and 
glowed  like  a  brazier,  and  the  sun  rose  a  vast  red- 
hot  coal  floating  in  fire.  An  hour  passed,  then 
another,  and  another.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock. 
Once  more  the  dentist  paused,  and  stood  panting 
and  blowing,  his  arms  dangling,  his  eyes  screwed 
up  and  blinking  as  he  looked  about  him. 

Far  behind  him  the  Panamint  hills  were  already 
but  blue  hummocks  on  the  horizon.  Before  him 
and  upon  either  side,  to  the  north  and  to  the  east 
and  to  the  south,  stretched  primordial  desolation. 
League  upon  league  the  infinite  reaches  of  daz- 
424 


McTeague 

zling  white  alkali  laid  themselves  out  like  an  im 
measurable  scroll  unrolled  from  horizon  to  horizon; 
not  a  bush,  not  a  twig  relieved  that  horrible  monot 
ony.  Even  the  sand  of  the  desert  would  have  been 
a  welcome  sight;  a  single  clump  of  sage-brush 
would  have  fascinated  the  eye;  but  this  was  worse 
than  the  desert.  It  was  abominable,  this  hideous 
sink  of  alkali,  this  bed  of  some  primeval  lake  lying 
so  far  below  the  level  of  the  ocean.  The  great 
mountains  of  Placer  County  had  been  merely  in 
different  to  man;  but  this  awful  sink  of  alkali  was 
openly  and  unreservedly  iniquitous  and  malignant. 

McTeague  had  told  himself  that  the  heat  upon  the 
lower  slopes  of  the  Panamint  had  been  dreadful; 
here  in  Death  Valley  it  became  a  thing  of  terror. 
There  was  no  longer  any  shadow  but  his  own.  He 
was  scorched  and  parched  from  head  to  heel.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  smart  of  his  tortured  body 
could  not  have  been  keener  if  he  had  been  flayed. 

"  If  it  gets  much  hotter,"  he  muttered,  wringing 
the  sweat  from  his  thick  fell  of  hair  and  mustache, 
"  If  it  gets  much  hotter,  I  don'  know  what  I'll  do." 
He  was  thirsty,  and  drank  a  little  from  his  canteen. 
"  I  ain't  got  any  too  much  water,"  he  murmured, 
shaking  the  canteen.  "  I  got  to  get  out  of  this  place 
in  a  hurry,  sure." 

By  eleven  o'clock  the  heat  had  increased  to  such 
an  extent  that  McTeague  could  feel  the  burning  of 
the  ground  come  pringling  and  stinging  through 
the  soles  of  his  boots.  Every  step  he  took  threw 
up  clouds  of  impalpable  alkali  dust,  salty  and  chok 
ing,  so  that  he  strangled  and  coughed  and  sneezed 
with  it. 

425 


McTeague 

"  Lord!  what  a  country!  "  exclaimed  the  dentist. 

An  hour  later,  the  mule  stopped  and  lay  down, 
his  jaws  wide  open,  his  ears  dangling.  McTeague 
washed  his  mouth  with  a  handful  of  water  and  for 
a  second  time  since  sunrise  wetted  the  flour-sacks 
around  the  bird  cage.  The  air  was  quivering  and 
palpitating  like  that  in  the  stoke-hold  of  a  steam 
ship.  The  sun,  small  and  contracted,  swam  molten 
overhead. 

"  I  can't  stand  it,"  said  McTeague  at  length. 
"  I'll  have  to  stop  and  make  some  kinda  shade." 

The  mule  was  crouched  upon  the  ground,  pant 
ing  rapidly,  with  half-closed  eyes.  The  dentist  re 
moved  the  saddle,  and  unrolling  his  blanket, 
propped  it  up  as  best  he  could  between  him  and  the 
sun.  As  he  stooped  down  to  crawl  beneath  it,  his 
palm  touched  the  ground.  He  snatched  it  away 
with  a  cry  of  pain.  The  surface  alkali  was  oven-hot; 
he  was  obliged  to  scoop  out  a  trench  in  it  before  he 
dared  to  lie  down. 

By  degrees  the  dentist  began  to  doze.  He  had 
had  little  or  no  sleep  the  night  before,  and  the  hurry 
of  his  flight  under  the  blazing  sun  had  exhausted 
him.  But  his  rest  was  broken;  between  waking  and 
sleeping,  all  manner  of  troublous  images  galloped 
through  his  brain.  He  thought  he  was  back  in  the 
Panamint  hills  again  with  Cribbens.  They  had 
just  discovered  the  mine  and  were  returning  toward 
camp.  McTeague  saw  himself  as  another  man, 
striding  along  over  the  sand  and  sage-brush.  At 
once  he  saw  himself  stop  and  wheel  sharply  about, 
peering  back  suspiciously.  There  was  something 
behind  him;  something  was  following  him.  He 
426 


McTeague 

looked,  as  it  were,  over  the  shoulder  of  this  other 
McTeague,  and  saw  down  there,  in  the  half  light  of 
the  canon,  something  dark  crawling  upon  the 
ground,  an  indistinct  gray  figure,  man  or  brute,  he 
did  not  know.  Then  he  saw  another,  and  another; 
then  another.  A  score  of  black,  crawling  objects 
were  following  him,  crawling  from  bush  to  bush, 
converging  upon  him.  "  They  "  were  after  him, 
were  closing  in  upon  him,  were  within  touch  of  his 
hand,  were  at  his  feet — zverc  at  his  throat. 

McTeague  jumped  up  with  a  shout,  oversetting 
the  blanket.  There  was  nothing  in  sight.  For 
miles  around,  the  alkali  was  empty,  solitary,  quiver 
ing  and  shimmering  under  the  pelting  fire  of  the 
afternoon's  sun. 

But  once  more  the  spur  bit  into  his  body,  goad 
ing  Mm  on.  There  was  to  be  no  rest,  no  going 
back,  no  pause,  iw  ^fop.  Hun-*,  /7iui-y,  n-rry  on. 
The  brute  that  in  him  slept  so  close  to  the  surface 
was  alive  and  alert,  and  tugging  to  be  gone.  The.-£ 
was  no  resisting  that  instinct.  The  brute  felt  an 
enemy,  scented  the  trackers,  clamored  and  strug 
gled  and  fought,  and  would  not  be  gainsaid. 

"  I  can't  go  on,"  groaned  McTeague,  his  eyes 
sweeping  the  horizon  behind  him,  "  I'm  beat  out. 
I'm  clog  tired.  I  ain't  slept  any  for  two  nights." 
But  for  all  that  he  roused  himself  again,  saddled 
the  mule,  scarcely  less  exhausted  than  himself,  and 
pushed  on  once  more  over  the  scorching  alkali  and 
under  the  blazing  sun. 

From  that  time  on  the  fear  never  left  him,  the 
spur  never  ceased  to  bite,  the  instinct  that  goaded 
him  to  flight  never  was  dumb;  hurry  or  halt,  it  was 
427 


McTeague 

all  the  same.  On  he  went,  straight  on,  chasing  the 
receding  horizon;  flagellated  with  heat;  tortured 
with  thirst;  crouching  over;  looking  furtively  be 
hind,  and  at  times  reaching  his  hand  forward,  the 
fingers  prehensile,  grasping,  as  it  were,  toward  the 
horizon,  that  always  fled  before  him. 

The  sun  set  upon  the  third  day  of  McTeague's 
flight,  night  came  on,  the  stars  burned  slowly  into 
the  cool  dark  purple  of  the  sky.  The  gigantic  sink 
of  white  alkali  glowed  like  snow.  McTeague,  now 
far  into  the  desert,  held  steadily  on,  swinging  for 
ward  with  great  strides.  His  enormous  strength 
held  him  doggedly  to  his  work.  Sullenly,  with  his 
huge  jaws  gripping  stolidly  together,  he  pushed  on. 
At  midnight  he  stopped. 

"  Now,"  he  growled,  with  a  certain  desperate 
defiance,  as  though  he  expected  to  be  heard,  "  Now, 
I'm  going  to  lay  up  and  get  some  sleep.  You  can 
come  or  not." 

He  cleared  away  the  'hot  surface  alkali,  spread  out 
his  blanket,  and  slept  until  the  next  day's  heat 
aroused  him.  His  water  was  so  low  that  he  dared 
not  make  coffee  now,  and  so  breakfasted  without  it. 
Until  ten  o'clock  he  tramped  forward,  then  camped 
again  in  the  shade  of  one  of  the  rare  rock  ledges, 
and  "  lay  up  "  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  By  five 
o'clock  he  was  once  more  on  the  march. 

He  travelled  on  for  the  greater  part  of  that  night, 
stopping  only  once  towards  three  in  the  morning 
to  water  the  mule  from  the  canteen.  Again  the  red- 
hot  day  burned  up  over  the  horizon.  Even  at  six 
o'clock  it  was  hot. 

"  It's  going  to  be  worse  than  ever  to-day,"  he 
428 


McTeague 

groaned.  "  I  wish  I  could  find  another  rock  to 
camp  by.  Ain't  I  ever  going  to  get  out  of  this 
place?" 

There  was  no  change  in  the  character  of  the 
desert.  Always  the  same  measureless  leagues  of 
white-hot  alkali  stretched  away  toward  the  horizon 
on  every  hand.  Here  and  there  the  flat,  dazzling 
surface  of  the  desert  broke  and  raised  into  long  low 
mounds,  from  the  summit  of  which  McTeague 
could  look  for  miles  and  miles  over  its  horrible 
desolation.  No  shade  was  in  sight.  Not  a  rock,  not 
a  stone  broke  the  monotony  of  the  ground.  Again 
and  again  he  ascended  the  low  unevennesses,  look 
ing  and  searching  for  a  camping  place,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  glitter  of  sand  and  sky. 

He  tramped  forward  a  little  farther,  then  paused 
at  length  in  a  hollow  between  two  breaks,  resolving 
to  make  camp  there. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout. 

"  Hands  up.     By  damn,  I  got  the  drop  on  you!  " 

McTeague  looked  up. 

It  was  Marcus. 


429 


XXII. 

Within  a  month  after  his  departure  from  San 
Francisco,  Marcus  'had  "  gone  in  on  a  cattle  ranch  " 
in  the  Panamint  Valley  with  an  Englishman,  an  ac 
quaintance  of  Mr.  Sieppe's.  His  headquarters  were 
at  a  place  called  Modoc,  at  the  lower  extremity  of 
the  valley,  about  fifty  miles  by  trail  to  the  south  of 
Keeler. 

His  life  was  the  life  of  a  cowboy.  He  realized  his 
former  vision  of  himself,  booted,  sombreroed,  and 
revolvered,  passing  his  days  in  the  saddle  and  the 
better  part  of  his  nights  around  the  poker  tables  in 
Modoc's  one  saloon.  To  his  intense  satisfaction 
he  even  involved  himself  in  a  gun  fight  that  arose 
over  a  disputed  brand,  with  the  result  that  two 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  were  shot  away. 

News  from  the  outside  world  filtered  slowly  into 
the  Panamint  Valley,  and  the  telegraph  had  never 
been  built  beyond  Keeler.  At  intervals  one  of  the 
local  papers  of  Independence,  the  nearest  large- 
town,  found  its  way  into  the  cattle  camps  on  the 
ranges,  and  occasionally  one  of  the  Sunday  editions 
of  a  Sacramento  journal,  weeks  old,  was  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  Marcus  ceased  to  hear  from 
the  Sieppes.  As  for  San  Francisco,  it  was  as  far 
from  him  as  was  London  or  Vienna. 

One  day,  a  fortnight  after  McTeague's  flight  from 
San  Francisco,  Marcus  rode  into  Modoc,  to  find  a 
430 


McTeague 

group  of  men  gathered  about  a  notice  affixed  to  the 
outside  of  the  Wells-Fargo  office.  It  was  an  offer 
of  reward  for  the  arrest  and  apprehension  of  a  mur 
derer.  The  crime  had  been  committed  in  San 
Francisco,  but  the  man  wanted  had  been  traced  as 
far  as  the  western  portion  of  Inyo  County,  and  was 
believed  at  that  time  to  be  in  hiding  in  either 
the  Pinto  or  Panamint  hills,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Keeler. 

Marcus  reached  Keeler  on  the  afternoon  of  that 
same  day.  Half  a  mile  from  the  town  his  pony  fell 
and  died  from  exhaustion.  Marcus  did  not  stop 
even  to  remove  the  saddle.  He  arrived  in  the  bar 
room  of  the  hotel  in  Keeler  just  after  the  posse  had 
been  made  up.  The  sheriff,  who  had  come  down 
from  Independence  that  morning,  at  first  refused 
his  offer  of  assistance.  He  had  enough  men  already 
— too  many,  in  fact.  The  country  travelled  through 
would  be  hard,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  water 
for  so  many  men  and  horses. 

"  But  none  of  you  fellers  have  ever  seen  um," 
vociferated  Marcus,  quivering  with  excitement  and 
wrath.  "  I  know  um  well.  I  could  pick  um  out 
in  a  million.  I  can  identify  um,  and  you  fellers 
can't.  And  I  knew — I  knew — good  God!  I  knew 
that  girl — his  wife — in  Frisco,  She's  a  cousin  of 
mine,  she  is — she  was — I  thought  once  of —  This 
thing's  a  personal  matter  of  mine — an'  that  money 
he  got  away  with,  that  five  thousand,  belongs 
to  me  by  rights.  Oh,  never  mind,  I'm  going  along. 
Do  you  hear?  "  he  shouted,  his  fists  raised,  "  I'm 
going  along,  I  tell  you.  There  ain't  a  man  of  you 
big  enough  to  stop  me.  Let's  see  you  try  and  stop 


McTeague 

me  going.  Let's  see  you  once,  any  two  of  you." 
He  filled  the  barroom  with  his  clamor. 

"  Lord  love  you,  come  along,  then,"  said  the 
sheriff. 

The  posse  rode  out  of  Keeler  that  same  night. 
The  keeper  of  the  general  merchandise  store,  from 
whom  Marcus  had  borrowed  a  second  pony,  had 
informed  them  that  Cribbens  and  his  partner,  whose 
description  tallied  exactly  with  that  given  in  the 
notice  of  reward,  had  outfitted  at  his  place  with  a 
view  to  prospecting  in  the  Panamint  hills.  The 
posse  trailed  them  at  once  to  their  first  camp  at  the 
head  of  the  valley.  It  was  an  easy  matter.  It  was 
only  necessary  to  inquire  of  the  cowboys  and  range 
riders  of  the  valley  if  they  had  seen  and  noted  the 
passage  of  two  men,  one  of  whom  carried  a  bird 
cage. 

Beyond  this  first  camp  the  trail  was  lost,  and  a 
week  was  wasted  in  a  bootless  search  around  the 
mine  at  Gold  Gulch,  whither  it  seemed  probable 
the  partners  had  gone.  Then  a  travelling  peddler, 
who  included  Gold  Gulch  in  his  route,  brought  in 
the  news  of  a  wonderful  strike  of  gold-bearing 
quartz  some  ten  miles  to  the  south  on  the  western 
slope  of  the  range.  Two  men  from  Keeler  had 
made  a  strike,  the  peddler  had  said,  and  added  the 
curious  detail  that  one  of  the  men  had  a  canary  bird 
in  a  cage  with  him. 

The  posse  made  Cribbens's  camp  three  days  after 
the  unaccountable  disappearance  of  his  partner. 
Their  man  was  gone,  but  the  narrow  hoof  prints  of 
a  mule,  mixed  with  those  of  huge  hob-nailed  boots, 
could  be  plainly  followed  in  the  sand.  Here  they 
432 


McTeague 

picked  up  the  trail  and  held  to  it  steadily  till  the 
point  was  reached  where,  instead  of  tending  south 
ward  it  swerved  abruptly  to  the  east.  The  men 
could  hardly  believe  their  eyes. 

"  It  ain't  reason,"  exclaimed  the  sheriff.  "  What 
in  thunder  is  he  up  to?  This  beats  me.  Cutting 
out  into  Death  Valley  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  He's  heading  for  Gold  Mountain  over  in  the 
Armagosa,  sure." 

The  men  decided  that  this  conjecture  was  true. 
It  was  the  only  inhabited  locality  in  that  direction. 
A  discussion  began  as  to  the  further  movements 
of  the  posse. 

"  I  don't  figure  on  going  into  that  alkali  sink  with 
no  eight  men  and  horses,"  declared  the  sheriff. 
"  One  man  can't  carry  enough  water  to  take  him 
and  his  mount  across,  let  alone  eight.  No,  sir.  Four 
couldn't  do  it.  No,  three  couldn't.  We've  got  to 
make  a  circuit  round  the  valley  and  come  up  on  the 
other  side  and  head  him  off  at  Gold  Mountain. 
That's  what  we  got  to  do,  and  ride  like  hell  to  do  it, 
too." 

But  Marcus  protested  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
lungs  against  abandoning  the  trail  now  that  they 
had  found  it.  He  argued  that  they  were  but  a  day 
and  a  half  behind  their  man  now.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  their  missing  the  trail — as  distinct  in 
the  white  alkali  as  in  snow.  They  could  make  a 
dash  into  the  valley,  secure  their  man,  and  return 
long  before  their  water  failed  them.  He,  for  one, 
would  not  give  up  the  pursuit,  now  that  they 
were  so  close.  In  the  haste  of  the  departure  from 
Keeler  the  sheriff  had  neglected  to  swear  him  in. 

23  433 


McTeague 

He  was  under  no  orders.  He  would  do  as  he 
pleased. 

"  Go  on,  then,  you  darn  fool,"  answered  the 
sheriff.  "  We'll  cut  on  round  the  valley,  for  all  that. 
It's  a  gamble  he'll  be  at  Gold  Mountain  before 
you're  half  way  across.  But  if  you  catch  him, 
here  " — he  tossed  Marcus  a  pair  of  handcuffs — 
"  put  'em  on  him  and  bring  him  back  to  Keeler." 

Two  days  after  he  had  left  the  posse,  and  when  he 
was  already  far  out  in  the  desert,  Marcus's  horse 
gave  out.  In  the  fury  of  his  impatience  he  had 
spurred  mercilessly  forward  on  the  trail,  and  on 
the  morning  of  the  third  day  found  that  his  horse 
was  unable  to  move.  The  joints  of  his  legs  seemed 
locked  rigidly.  He  would  go  his  own  length, 
stumbling  and  interfering,  then  collapse  helplessly 
upon  the  ground  with  a  pitiful  groan.  He  was  used 
up. 

Marcus  believed  himself  to  be  close  upon  Mc 
Teague  now.  The  ashes  at  his  last  camp  had  still 
been  smoldering.  Marcus  took  what  supplies  of 
food  and  water  he  could  carry,  and  hurried  on.  But 
McTeague  was  farther  ahead  than  he  had  guessed, 
and  by  evening  of  his  third  day  upon  the  desert 
Marcus,  raging  with  thirst,  had  drunk  his  last 
mouthful  of  water  and  had  flung  away  the  empty 
canteen. 

"  If  he  ain't  got  water  with  um,"  he  said  to  him 
self  as  he  pushed  on,  "  If  he  ain't  got  water  with 
um,  by  damn!  I'll  be  in  a  bad  way.  I  will,  for  a 
fact." 

At   Marcus's   shout   McTeague  looked   up   and 

434 


McTeague 

around  him.  For  the  instant  he  saw  no  one.  The 
white  glare  of  alkali  was  still  unbroken.  Then  his 
swiftly  rolling  eyes  lighted  upon  a  head  and  shoul 
der  that  protruded  above  the  low  crest  of  the  break 
directly  in  front  of  him.  A  man  was  there,  lying  at 
full  length  upon  the  ground,  covering  him  with  a 
revolver.  For  a  few  seconds  McTeague  looked  at 
the  man  stupidly,  bewildered,  confused,  as  yet  with 
out  definite  thought.  Then  he  noticed  that  the  man 
was  singularly  like  Marcus  Schouler.  It  ivas  Mar 
cus  Schouler.  How  in  the  world  did  Marcus 
Schouler  come  to  be  in  that  desert?  What  did  he 
mean  by  pointing  a  pistol  at  him  that  way?  He'd 
best  look  out  or  the  pistol  would  go  off.  Then  his 
thoughts  readjusted  themselves  with  a  swiftness 
born  of  a  vivid  sense  of  danger.  Here  was  the 
enemy  at  last,  the  tracker  he  had  felt  upon  his  foot 
steps.  Now  at  length  he  had  "  come  on "  and 
shown  himself,  after  all  those  days  of  skulking. 
McTeague  was  glad  of  it.  He'd  show  him  now. 
They  two  would  have  it  out  right  then  and  there. 
His  rifle!  He  had  thrown  it  away  long  since.  He 
was  helpless.  Marcus  had  ordered  'him  to  put  up 
his  hands.  If  'he  did  not,  Marcus  would  kill  him. 
He  had  the  drop  on  him.  McTeague  stared, 
scowling  fiercely  at  the  levelled  pistol.  He  did  not 
move. 

"Hands  up!"  shouted  Marcus  a  second  time. 
"  I'll  give  you  three  to  do  it  in.     One,  two " 

Instinctively  McTeague  put  his  hands  above  his 
head. 

Marcus   rose   and  came  towards  him  over  the 
break. 

435 


McTeague 

"  Keep  'em  up,"  he  cried.  "  If  you  move  'em 
once  I'll  kill  you,  sure." 

He  came  up  to  McTeague  and  searched  him, 
going  through  his  pockets;  but  McTeague  had  no 
revolver;  not  even  a  hunting  knife. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  that  money,  with  that 
five  thousand  dollars?" 

"  It's  on  the  mule,"  answered  McTeague,  sullenly. 

Marcus  grunted,  and  cast  a  glance  at  the  mule, 
who  was  standing  some  distance  away,  snorting 
nervously,  and  from  time  to  time  flattening  his 
long  ears. 

"  Is  that  it  there  on  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  there 
in  that  canvas  sack?"  Marcus  demanded. 

"  Yes,  that's  it." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  came  into  Marcus's  eyes, 
and  under  his  breath  he  muttered: 

"  Got  it  at  last." 

He  was  singularly  puzzled  to  know  what  next  to 
do.  He  had  got  McTeague.  There  he  stood  at 
length,  with  his  big  hands  over  his  head,  scowling 
at  him  sullenly.  Marcus  had  caught  his  enemy,  had 
run  down  the  man  for  whom  every  officer  in  the 
State  had  been  looking.  What  should  he  do  with 
him  now?  He  couldn't  keep  him  standing  there 
forever  with  his  hands  over  his  head. 

"  Got  any  water?  "  he  demanded. 

"  There's  a  canteen  of  water  on  the  mule." 

Marcus  moved  toward  the  mule  and  made  as  if 
to  reach  the  bridle-rein.  The  mule  squealed,  threw 
up  his  head,  and  galloped  to  a  little  distance,  rolling 
his  eyes  and  flattening  his  ears. 

Marcus  swore  wrathfully. 
436 


McTeague 

"  He  acted  that  way  once  before,"  explained  Mc 
Teague,  his  hands  still  in  the  air.  "  He  ate  some 
loco-weed  back  in  the  hills  before  I  started." 

For  a  moment  Marcus  hesitated.  While  he  was 
catching  the  mule  McTeague  might  get  away.  But 
where  to, in  heaven's  name?  A  rat  could  not  'hide 
on  the  surface  of  that  glistening  alkali,  and  besides, 
all  McTeague's  store  of  provisions  and  his  priceless 
supply  of  water  were  on  the  mule.  Marcus  ran 
after  the  mule,  revolver  in  hand,  shouting  and  curs 
ing.  But  the  mule  would  not  be  caught.  He  acted 
as  if  possessed,  squealing,  lashing  out,  and  gallop 
ing  in  wide  circles,  his  head  high  in  the  air. 

"  Come  on,"  shouted  Marcus,  furious,  turning 
back  to  McTeague.  "  Come  on,  help  me  catch  him. 
We  got  to  catch  him.  All  the  water  we  got  is  on 
the  saddle." 

McTeague  came  up. 

"  He's  eatun  some  loco-weed,"  he  repeated.  "  He 
went  kinda  crazy  once  before." 

"  If  he  should  take  it  into  his  head  to  bolt  and 
keep  on  running " 

Marcus  did  not  finish.  A  sudden  great  fear 
seemed  to  widen  around  and  inclose  the  two  men. 
Once  their  water  gone,  the  end  would  not  be  long. 

"  We  can  catch  him  all  right,"  said  the  dentist. 
"  I  caught  him  once  before." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we  can  catch  him,"  answered  Mar 
cus,  reassuringly. 

Already  the  sense  of  enmity  between  the  two  had 
weakened  in  the  face  of  a  common  peril.  Marcus 
let  down  the  hammer  of  his  revolver  and  slid  it  back 
into  the  holster. 

437 


McTeague 

The  mule  was  trotting  on  ahead,  snorting  and 
throwing  up  great  clouds  of  alkali  dust.  At  every 
step  the  canvas  sack  jingled,  and  McTeague's  bird 
cage,  still  wrapped  in  the  flour-bags,  bumped 
against  the  saddle-pads.  By  and  by  the  mule 
stopped,  blowing  out  his  nostrils  excitedly. 

"  He's  clean  crazy,"  fumed  Marcus,  panting  and 
swearing. 

"  We  ought  to  come  up  on  him  quiet,"  observed 
McTeague. 

"  I'll  try  and  sneak  up,"  said  Marcus;  "  two  of  us 
would  scare  him  again.  You  stay  here." 

Marcus  went  forward  a  step  at  a  time.  He  was 
almost  within  arm's  length  of  the  bridle  when  the 
mule  shied  from  him  abruptly  and  galloped  away. 

Marcus  danced  with  rage,  shaking  his  fists,  and 
swearing  horribly.  Some  hundred  yards  away  the 
mule  paused  and  began  blowing  and  snuffing  in  the 
alkali  as  though  in  search  of  feed.  Then,  for  no 
reason,  he  shied  again,  and  started  off  on  a  jog  trot 
toward  the  east. 

"  We've  got  to  follow  him,"  exclaimed  Marcus  as 
McTeague  came  up.  "  There's  no  water  within 
seventy  miles  of  here." 

Then  began  an  interminable  pursuit.  Mile  after 
mile,  under  the  terrible  heat  of  the  desert  sun,  the 
two  men  followed  the  mule,  racked  with  a  thirst 
that  grew  fiercer  every  hour.  A  dozen  times  they 
could  almost  touch  the  canteen  of  water,  and  as 
often  the  distraught  animal  shied  away  and  fled  be 
fore  them.  At  length  Marcus  cried: 

"  It's  no  use,  we  can't  catch  him,  and  we're  kill 
ing  ourselves  with  thirst.  We  got  to  take  our 
433 


McTeague 

chances. "     He  drew  his  revolver  from  its  holster, 
cocked  it,  and  crept  forward. 

"Steady,  now,"  said  McTeague;  "it  won'  do  to 
shoot  through  the  canteen." 

Within  twenty  yards  Marcus  paused,  made  a  rest 
of  his  left  forearm  and  fired. 

"  You  got  him,"  cried  McTeague.  "  No,  he's  up 
again.  Shoot  him  again.  He's  going  to  bolt." 

Marcus  ran  on,  firing  as  he  ran.  The  mule,  one 
foreleg  trailing,  scrambled  along,  squealing  and 
snorting.  Marcus  fired  his  last  shot.  The  mule 
pitched  forward  upon  his  head,  then,  rolling  side 
ways,  fell  upon  the  canteen,  bursting  it  open  and 
spilling  its  entire  contents  into  the  sand. 

Marcus  and  McTeague  ran  up,  and  Marcus 
snatched  the  battered  canteen  from  under  the  reek 
ing,  bloody  hide.  There  was  no  water  left.  Mar 
cus  flung  the  canteen  from  him  and  stood  up,  facing 
McTeague.  There  was  a  pause. 

"  We're  dead  men,"  said  Marcus. 

McTeague  looked  from  him  out  over  the  desert. 
Chaotic  desolation  stretched  from  them  on  either 
hand,  flaming  and  glaring  with  the  afternoon  heat. 
There  was  the  brazen  sky  and  the  leagues  upon 
leagues  of  alkali,  leper  white.  There  was  nothing 
more.  They  were  in  the  heart  of  Death  Valley. 

"  Not  a  drop  of  water,"  muttered  McTeague; 
"  not  a  drop  of  water." 

"  We  can  drink  the  mule's  blood,"  said  Marcus. 
"  It's  been  done  before.  But— but—  '  he  looked 
down  at  the  quivering,  gory  body — "  but  I  ain't 
thirsty  enough  for  that  yet." 

"  Where's  the  nearest  water?  " 
439 


McTeague 

"  Well,  it's  about  a  hundred  miles  or  more  back 
of  us  in  the  Panamint  hills/'  returned  Marcus,  dog 
gedly.  "  We'd  be  crazy  long  before  we  reached  it. 
I  tell  you,  we're  done  for,  by  damn,  we're  done  for. 
We  ain't  ever  going  to  get  outa  here." 

"  Done  for? "  murmured  the  other,  looking 
about  stupidly.  "  Done  for,  that's  the  word.  Done 
for?  Yes,  I  guess  we're  done  for." 

"  W'hat  are  we  going  to  do  now? "  exclaimed 
Marcus,  sharply,  after  a  while. 

"  Well,  let's — let's  be  moving  along — some 
where." 

"  Where,  I'd  like  to  know?  What's  the  good  of 
moving  on?  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  stopping  here?  " 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  Lord,  it's  hot,"  said  the  dentist,  finally,  wiping 
his  forehead  with  the  back  of  his  'hand.  Marcus 
ground  his  teeth. 

"Done  for,"  he  muttered;  "done  for." 

"  I  never  was  so  thirsty,"  continued  McTeague. 
"  I'm  that  dry  I  can  hear  my  tongue  rubbing 
against  the  roof  of  my  mouth." 

"  Well,  we  can't  stop  here,"  said  Marcus,  finally; 
"we  got  to  go  somewhere.  We'll  try  and  get 
back,  but  it  ain't  no  manner  of  use.  Anything  we, 
want  to  take  along  with  us  from  the  mule?  We 
can " 

Suddenly  he  paused.  In  an  instant  the  eyes  of 
the  two  doomed  men  had  met  as  the  same  thought 
simultaneously  rose  in  their  minds.  The  canvas 
sack  with  its  five  thousand  dollars  was  still  tied  to 
the  horn  of  the  saddle. 

440 


McTeague 

Marcus  had  emptied  his  revolver  at  the  mule,  and 
though  he  still  wore  his  cartridge  belt,  he  was  for 
the  moment  as  unarmed  as  McTeague. 

"  I  guess,"  began  McTeague  coming  forward  a 
step,  "  I  guess,  even  if  we  are  done  for,  I'll  take — 
some  of  my  truck  along." 

"  Hold  on,"  exclaimed  Marcus,  with  rising  ag 
gressiveness.  "  Let's  talk  about  that.  I  ain't  so 
sure  about  who  that — who  that  money  belongs  to." 

"  Well,  I  am,  you  see,"  growled  the  dentist. 

The  old  enmity  between  the  two  men,  their  an 
cient  hate,  was  flaming  up  again. 

"  Don't  try  an'  load  that  gun  either,"  cried  Mc 
Teague,  fixing  Marcus  with  his  little  eyes. 

"  Then  don't  lay  your  finger  on  that  sack," 
shouted  the  other.  "  You're  my  prisoner,  do  you 
understand?  You'll  do  as  I  say."  Marcus  had 
drawn  the  handcuffs  from  his  pocket,  and  stood 
ready  with  his  revolver  held  as  a  club.  "  You 
soldiered  me  out  of  that  money  once,  and  played  me 
for  a  sucker,  an'  it's  my  turn  now.  Don't  you  lay 
your  finger  on  that  sack." 

Marcus  barred  McTeague's  way,  white  with  pas 
sion.  McTeague  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  drew 
to  two  fine,  twinkling  points,  and  his  enormous 
hands  knotted  themselves  into  fists,  hard  as  wooden 
mallets.  He  moved  a  step  nearer  to  Marcus,  then 
another. 

Suddenly  the  men  grappled,  and  in  another  in 
stant  were  rolling  and  struggling  upon  the  hot  white 
ground.  McTeague  thrust  Marcus  backward  until 
he  tripped  and  fell  over  the  body  of  the  dead  mule. 
The  little  bird  cage  broke  from  the  saddle  with  the 
441 


McTeague 

violence  of  their  fall,  and  rolled  out  upon  the 
ground,  the  flour-bags  slipping  from  it.  McTeague 
tore  the  revolver  from  Marcus's  grip  and  struck  out 
with  it  blindly.  Clouds  of  alkali  dust,  fine  and  pun 
gent,  enveloped  the  two  fighting  men,  all  but 
strangling  them. 

McTeague  did  not  know  how  he  killed  his  enemy, 
but  all  at  once  Marcus  grew  still  beneath  his  blows. 
Then  there  was  a  sudden  last  return  of  energy.  Mc- 
Teague's  right  wrist  was  caught,  something  clicked 
upon  it,  then  the  struggling  body  fell  limp  and  mo 
tionless  with  a  long  breath. 

As  McTeague  rose  to  his  feet,  he  felt  a  pull  at  his 
right  wrist;  something  held  it  fast.  Looking  down, 
he  saw  that  Marcus  in  that  last  struggle  had  found 
strength  to  handcuff  their  wrists  together.  Marcus 
was  dead  now;  McTeague  was  locked  to  the  body. 
All  about  him,  vast,  interminable,  stretched  the 
measureless  leagues  of  Death  Valley. 

McTeague  remained  stupidly  looking  around 
him,  now  at  the  distant  horizon,  now  at  the  ground, 
now  at  the  half-dead  canary  chittering  feebly  in  its 
little  gilt  prison. 


THE   END. 


442 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


